


Year-Round

by cheshiredog



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Cabin Fic, Car Sex, Coming Out, Derek Hale has a dog, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fear of Discovery, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Secret Relationship, Self-Discovery, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Top Stiles Stilinski, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshiredog/pseuds/cheshiredog
Summary: 1950s Sterek farmer!Derek and college!Stiles AU. TW FOR HOMOPHOBIA (1950s, duh)
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura
Comments: 36
Kudos: 216





	1. Peaches and Other Pleasant Things

**Author's Note:**

> Had fun with this one! Hope you enjoy. ^.^ The fic is complete, I just have to finish final edits and will post each chapter weekly as I do. Let me know if you catch mistakes or if I should add any tags or warnings (I'm terrible with tags.)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: HOMOPHOBIA (because it is set in 1950s)

“And let me introduce you to our local hero.” Annie, their overly peppy tour guide, bounced to a halt in the dining hall. She grinned too-white teeth at a young man stacking crates behind the fruit bar. “How’s it going, Derek?” She leaned so far across the fruit bar the bow on her neckline nearly dipped into the caramel sauce. Stiles quirked an eyebrow at Scott.

The man blinked at Annie, offering a vague smile. “I’m fine, Miss Lancaster. How are you?”

“Wonderful, now that you’re bringing us a fresh batch. You see,” Annie swiveled back to the group, “the university buys produce from some of the local farmers like Derek here to make sure our students get access to plenty of healthy food and to support our community. Derek here grows the best fruit in the county.” She smiled at him again, but Derek shifted his weight and seemed to look everywhere but at her.

“Sample anyone?” he said.

Stiles was never one to refuse free food. The second he bit into the peach, he moaned at the burst of flavor—nothing like store-bought. “Holy—” he turned to Scott who was laughing at him. “This is not a peach. This-this is a drop of heaven, okay? This is what the Greek gods ate.”

Scott laughed. “It’s just a peach.”

“Can we sneak some back to the dorm?” Stiles muttered half-jokingly. As he pitched the peach up and caught it, he thought he spied a smirk on Derek’s face.

After the tour, Annie announced that their group had the rest of the afternoon to themselves to explore the campus and meet other students and faculty. They had two more days of orientation before the start of term. Stiles was not about to waste the freedom. He dragged Scott out of their dorm room toward the student commons. There were plenty of upperclassmen already on campus, gents smoking in the quad and ladies chatting over lunch in the commons.

Scott and Stiles roamed the hallways of the student center, noting the sitting areas and billiard room where they planned on spending copious amounts of time not doing their schoolwork. Through the windows they spied the campus pool. Stiles could imagine spending plenty of time there with the lovely girls splashing around.

As the sky darkened, they made their way toward their dorm. The campus was fairly small, but their dorm was the furthest from the commons so they cut through several buildings on their way. In the drab halls of the mathematics building, the unexpected sound of voices drew them to the door of what was supposed to be an empty classroom.

“Stiles, we shouldn’t eavesdrop,” hissed Scott. Stiles waved him off.

The man’s voice sounded increasingly irate. “I appreciate the kindness, Miss Lancaster, but it wouldn’t be appropriate.” Stiles realized it was Derek.

“Oh, come on. It’s not like this is uncharted territory for us. And if you’re not a good boy, you know what happens…”

“Please, Miss Lancaster.”

“Oh, shut up with that. You know my name. Use it. It looks bad when you don’t.”

Stiles’s stomach flipped as their voices dipped too low to hear. Scott’s eyes were wide, ears red. They ducked out as quietly as possible.

“Sounds like Derek’s got himself a bossy girl,” Scott said, combing a hand through his hair.

“Almost feel sorry for the guy,” said Stiles.

Over the next two days, Scott and Stiles exchanged glances whenever Annie was directing their group around campus.

* * *

The term started with a bang. Homework piled up with every class, almost making Stiles miss high school. Then he remembered how many times he’d been bullied and beat up and decided he preferred college. Even the girls were nicer. In his requisite English course, he sat next to Scott, but on his other side, a girl claimed the seat and smiled at him and Scott and introduced herself as Allison Argent. Her eyes lingered on Scott, and Stiles gave him a sidelong look.

When the lecture started, Scott realized he’d lost his pencil. Stiles didn’t have an extra. Then one appeared on his desk. Allison quickly switched her attention back to the professor. Scott’s face broke into a smile unlike any Stiles had ever seen on him.

He was a goner all right.

Afterward, Stiles made his way out of the building alone since Scott’s next class was in the same building. And, coincidentally, so was Allison’s. Stiles wished him luck under his breath.

Right outside the Language Arts building, Stiles spotted a familiar head of dark hair working in the flowerbeds lining the brick wall. He didn’t have class for another couple hours, so why not?

“Hey there,” he called.

Derek squinted up, recognition dawning. “Peach lover.”

Stiles pursed his lips and hung his head. “Yup-yeah. That’s-that’s a nickname I’d like to stick.”

Derek grinned as he stood and stripped off his gloves to shake Stiles’s hand. “Didn’t get a proper introduction before. Derek Hale.”

“Stiles. Well, Stilinski, but everybody calls me Stiles.”

“No first name?”

“It’s, uh, kind of a mouthful. You’re a farmer _and_ a landscaper?” Stiles gestured to the tools and bags of mulch and soil littering the ground.

“In exchange for my sister and cousin attending the school tuition-free.”

“That’s a lot of work for one man.”

Derek shrugged. “I’m used to it. Parents have been out of the picture for a long time so I’ve been raising my sister for a while now.”

“Sorry to hear that. But hey, you got a girl at least. Bet she helps.”

“What?”

“Annie. She, uh, she isn’t your girl?”

“Miss Lancaster?” The corners of Derek’s mouth tilted down. “No, Miss Lancaster… We went steady for a while in high school. Not anymore.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Stiles was beginning to regret starting this conversation. Seems he still had a talent for sticking his foot in his mouth. “I better split. Lectures and learning and stuff.”

He made to leave but didn’t make it more than a couple yards before Derek called, “Hey, Peaches.” When Stiles turned, he almost missed the plump fruit sailing toward him. He captured it and saw that Derek held a brown paper bag in one hand. “Enjoy.” Derek had given him the peach from his own lunch. Despite the nickname, Stiles’s embarrassment disappeared. He waved goodbye and jogged off toward the commons.

* * *

Scott handed Stiles the cig. Stiles didn’t smoke often, but if he was going to have to listen to Scott ramble on about Allison until lights out, he figured he needed it.

“She’s a history major, but she’s into those old folktales and legends and stuff about werewolves and these things called banshees. They’re like ghosts whose screams kill people or something. She drew this really cool werewolf on her notebook. She’s a great artist. I told her she should—”

“Hey, Scott.”

“What?”

Stiles raised his eyebrows and gestured at the homework on their desks. Stiles had managed to write two notes in the past twenty minutes, and Scott hadn’t solved a single math problem. He hardly seemed to care. He sighed and scooted his chair across the dorm toward Stiles. “Come on, Stiles. She has a friend. We could all go out together.”

“Don’t use those puppy-dog eyes on me,” Stiles said.

Scott used the puppy-dog eyes.

Stiles sighed. “Fine. But at least let me get through this chapter before you tell me how the sunlight bounces off Allison’s hair transforming it into the most perfect shade of amber. Why do we already have this much homework anyway?”

Scott beamed bright enough to blind a man.

* * *

Stiles may or may not have scouted out the locations of his classes beforehand. He may or may not have gotten lost because he failed to scout them out beforehand. He may or may not have, in his wild panic, barged straight into an unsuspecting girl, knocking the stack of papers she was carrying to the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles cried, flailing to help pick them up.

“You shouldn’t come flying around the corner like that. Seriously, look what you did,” the girl snapped. She knelt to gather up the papers. Stiles started to insist she not dirty her dress when he realized she wasn’t wearing a dress. Or a skirt. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a chick wearing pants in public. It wasn’t unheard of, but, especially in these parts, women wore more lady-like clothes in public.

“Uh,” was all Stiles could manage.

The girl glared up at him. “Are you just going to sit there useless? I could use a hand here.”

Stiles realized he’d stopped collecting the papers and immediately jumped back into action. As they organized the stack back in order, Stiles’s need to disturb the silence kicked in. “I’m Stiles. Listen, I’m so, so sorry about this. I’m a klutz, I know. Got lost and started going a little crazy, I guess. Let me walk you to where you’re going at least.”

They stood together, Stiles fumbling to hand her the pages he still held. He got a good look at her for the first time. She was cute. Despite the odd way she dressed—torn jeans and a plaid flannel—she had ferocious eyes and a mouth that was pleasant even when she frowned.

“I don’t need an escort. I can take care of myself,” she said.

“Somehow I don’t find that surprising, Miss…?”

For a moment she looked as though she would refuse to tell him her name out of spite. Then she barked, “Malia. Tate.”

Stiles offered his friendliest smile. “Well, Malia, if I can’t escort you, maybe you could at least tell me where the Foster Building is? I was supposed to have a lecture there about, oh,” he checked his wristwatch, “half an hour ago.”

Malia’s nose wrinkled like his stupidity disgusted her, but Stiles thought he spied a spark of amusement in her eyes. “It’s not that far. Head that way and swing left until you get to the square with the fountain. Then turn right and…” She must have seen Stiles’s spastic brain trying to keep track because she scowled and said, “Never mind. I’ll just show you. I’m going to Van Wick next door anyway. Let’s go.”

Even with his lanky legs, Stiles nearly had to jog to keep pace. As other students strode by, they threw Malia sneers of disdain and derision, looking her up and down as if appraising a car or house and finding it lacking. Malia didn’t seem to notice. She kept her chin high and her eyes focused on the path ahead.

“So, what are you studying?” Stiles asked, wishing he could think of something more than the typical dry freshman questions.

“Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t, I guess. Just trying to be friendly. Seems like you could use one.” They passed a gaggle of girls, obviously well-off with fine dresses and dainty gloves. Malia ignored the venomous stage whispers.

“Why would you want to be my friend?” she asked.

“Guess I’m a sucker for strays.”

Malia side-eyed him. “You were the one who was lost, buddy.”

“Ah, lost, but not abandoned.”

Malia stopped in her tracks. “Are you saying I’m abandoned?” Her tone lashed like a whip.

“What? No! I was just—that was a joke, you know, funny ha-ha? A bad one, clearly. I just—” Stiles threw up his hands in defeat. “I really shouldn’t be allowed to have a mouth.”

Malia frowned at him for so long that her laugh startled him. It was an honest, unabashed laugh, snorts and all, earning her even more stink eyes from the surrounding students, but Stiles found it infectious.

“You’re weird,” Malia said finally before continuing toward the Foster Building.

“Yeah, but like a likable kind of weird, right? Charming?”

“You ever go hunting?”

“What?”

“Hunting. Deer, guns, bang-bang.”

“Uh. No.”

“You should come with us some time. My cousin has a cabin.”

“That’s—” bizarre, “interesting. I, um, I’m not really one for guns—”

“That’s Foster over there.” Malia pointed to a tall brownstone building. “Here’s my phone number. Call me before Friday. We’re going to the lake this weekend. Bye.”

Before Stiles could form a coherent thought, she had disappeared into the Van Wick building.

* * *

“But Stiles. Double date!” When Scott whined, he really abused the kicked dog look.

“You think I want to spend my weekend with Malia and her cousin, covered in camouflage, tripping over tree roots, and wiping my ass with poison ivy? I don’t really have a way to bow out of this gracefully,” said Stiles, shoving clean but unfolded underpants into his suitcase. His dad would have smacked him over the head for being so careless, but he was at college now and he could pack his luggage however he damn well pleased, thank you very much.

“Are you really going to shoot a deer?” Scott asked.

“Yes, because I’m so experienced with a rifle that I’ll actually hit a living creature.”

“But you don’t even like blood.”

“Can’t you just go with Allison alone?”

Scott groaned and faceplanted into his pillow, muffling his voice. “For a first date? She already invited her friend anyway.” He rolled on his back to stare at the ceiling. “Third wheel. We could’ve been a Cadillac, but now we’re a tricycle.”

“Look, if you want to call Malia back and tell her no for me, be my guest, but the woman is unswayable. I tried to politely decline at least three times, but she barreled through the conversation like she was trying to score a touchdown.”

Scott rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Maybe she’s luring you out to the woods to murder you.” He mimed sighting Stiles with a gun.

“Funny. Have fun with your tricycle.”

Ten minutes later, Stiles was waiting for Malia to pick him up at the intersection of Ross and Palermo. She drove up in a beat-up red Ford truck, brakes squealing as she stopped. She wore jeans again, and her hair was mussed up from riding with the windows down.

“AC hasn’t worked in this thing for years,” she explained once Stiles had lugged his baggage into the bed of the truck and hopped in. Suddenly, his skin prickled with excitement. This unfamiliar territory was a challenge, a riddle for him to unravel.

Shouting over the roar of the wind, Malia said, “Thanks for coming. Most of those dandies on campus would act like I’d asked them to shoot themselves if I invited them hunting.”

Guilt compressed Stiles’s chest. “They’re all just pretending to be better than they are so maybe one day they will be.”

Malia smiled at him. “They don’t know how to cut loose. Have fun.”

“Is hunting supposed to be fun?” Stiles asked.

“It’s not just hunting. Think of it like…camping.”

Stiles made a face. “Roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories?”

Malia laughed. “If you want. Derek hardly ever says we can’t do something.”

Stiles leaned toward her, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “Derek? Derek Hale?”

“Yeah. You’ve met him?”

“A couple times, yeah.” Malia must have been the cousin whose tuition Derek was working to pay. “Your last names are different.”

“I go by my mom’s maiden name,” Malia said stiffly.

Okay then, time to change the subject. “You help out on the farm, then?” Stiles gestured to her clothes.

“When I can.” Malia swept aside a lock of hair the wind had blown into her eyes. “My dad doesn’t like me leaving the house much. He’s gone for the weekend so Derek said we should go hunting.”

“Why invite me?”

Malia frowned in thought then shrugged. “I’ve never had a friend before. You were nice to me.”

That was heartbreakingly innocent. Stiles stared out the window for a long time, neighborhoods gradually petering out to lazy countryside then growing wild with trees and grass and undergrowth.

As they neared the cabin, a light rain started. They rolled up the windows and squeaked to a stop before a humble, picturesque wood cabin with a chimney and a rocking chair swaying on the porch. The front door opened. Derek gracefully loped down the steps and hauled their bags out of the truck bed, running them inside out of the rain before Stiles and Malia had gotten out of the car.

“You ever play lacrosse?” Stiles asked once inside, shaking out his hair. “Sprinting like that on the field could get you a scholarship.”

Derek looked over from the kitchenette crooked in the corner of the main area. He grinned a sharp-toothed grin. “It’s Peaches.” Stiles hung his head but smiled. “Malia didn’t tell me it was you coming. If I’d known, I would have brought some—”

“Peaches? You’re hilarious.”

Derek’s eyes glittered mischievously. “Make yourself at home. I’ll have supper ready in an hour or so.”

“The cabin only has two bedrooms so you’re on the couch, I guess,” Malia said.

Stiles tossed his duffle beside the well-worn sofa. “That’s fine. I used to—”

Derek interrupted. “You can sleep in my room, Stiles. You’re our guest. I’ve spent plenty of nights on that couch anyway. I know her lumps and pokes well enough to avoid them.”

Stiles tried to graciously refuse, but Derek ultimately won out. Seemed like stubbornness ran in the family. Stiles found himself standing in a small room with one window, a bed, a bedside table, and an old-fashioned chest at the footboard to store clothes and personal effects. Stiles couldn’t help feeling like he was encroaching on Derek’s space, especially when he opened the chest, but it was empty except for an orange and brown patterned afghan and a picture frame containing a photo of a dark-haired woman cuddling a little girl in her lap, an older boy and girl to either side. The woman looked loving and happy. The younger girl was glaring at the camera from her lap, but the boy almost looked sad. Was this Derek with his mother and sisters?

A soft knock on the door made Stiles fumble the picture frame. Luckily, it landed softly on the afghan.

“My room’s next door,” Malia said, falling onto the mattress. “The bathroom is across the hall. It’s a small cabin so you probably won’t get lost again.” Her eyes narrowed teasingly.

“I don’t know.” Stiles closed the chest and set his bag on top. “I might need a map.”

“You allergic to anything? Derek told me to ask.”

“Let’s see, bread, uh, vegetables, fruit, pork, beef, chicken, turkey. I can only eat rice and certain species of small, freshwater fish.”

Malia’s brow furrowed. “Seriously?”

“No.” She was endearingly naïve. “I don’t have any allergies.”

“Okay. Well, I usually help with the cooking. You should help too.” She popped to her feet and started out the door.

“Of course. Except that I’m a nightmare in the kitchen.”

Malia snorted. “So am I. Don’t worry. Derek won’t let us mess up anything. He’s good like that.”

They found Derek chopping carrots on the kitchenette’s tiny island counter, his hands slicing with alarming speed and dexterity. A pot boiled behind him and more fresh vegetables waited in the sink. “Hey there. Think you can throw a teaspoon of salt in the stew, Malia? You any good with a knife, Stiles?”

“Good at unintentionally removing small body parts from myself, yes,” Stiles joked, waiting apprehensively on the far side of the counter.

Derek laughed but still slid the cutting board full of carrots toward him. “You’ll get the hang of it. Here.” As he moved around to Stiles’s side, Stiles caught a whiff of the stew he’d been slaving over as well as the smell of cedarwood and soil. Not unexpected from a farmer. “You hold the knife like this.” Derek demonstrated, gripping the blade instead of the hilt. “Then bend your fingers on the carrot so you don’t go removing those small body parts. Here.” He offered Stiles the blade hilt-first. “Try it.”

Sweat suddenly broke out over Stiles’s skin. The last time he’d been this nervous he’d been asking Lydia Martin to a school dance, and he couldn’t figure why he was feeling it now. He took the knife gingerly. When he hesitated, Derek guided his hands to their positions. As he curled Stiles’s fingertips, the calloused pads of his palm grazed Stiles’s knuckles, leaving a comforting warmth in their wake.

Stiles cleared his throat and gently began slicing uneven chunks of carrot. Next to the neat, equal circles of carrot Derek had cut, Stiles’s looked ugly, and he wondered how a person could make chopped carrots look pretty. Part of him hated that Derek could do that. Part of him loved it.

“See? A natural chef right here,” Derek said before going to check the simmering pot.

Stiles found himself smiling as he continued slicing.

Dinner was the best food Stiles had eaten since his mom passed away, and he told Derek as much. They all retired early because apparently deer hunting required waking up and being in position before the crack of dawn.

Stiles started to bed down, teeth brushed, face washed, but when he went to unpack his bag, he realized he’d forgotten his pillow back at the dorm. The one thing he needed to sleep. He scrubbed his face and groaned. “Okay. It’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself. “Just lay down and shut off your stupid brain.”

He tried. He really tried.

When he rolled over for the millionth time that night, his timepiece on the side table indicated that he had one hour before he was supposed to wake up. Might as well get up. The cabin was dark and creaked under his footsteps as he made his way to the common area. Silver moonlight streamed through the windows, curtains drawn aside. A pillow and blanket lay abandoned on the couch.

Was Derek an insomniac too?

Stiles started to wonder if Derek had crawled into Malia’s bed to snooze—inappropriate as that seemed to Stiles, this family was already plenty weird to begin with. Then a cough sounded from the porch.

Derek paused in his rocking when the door squeaked at Stiles’s pull. “Couldn’t sleep?” Derek asked.

Stiles waved dismissively. “Forgot my pillow. Can’t sleep without it. You should take the bed since I’m not getting any use out of it.”

“Oh, I’m normally awake at this hour. Just figured I’d enjoy the peace for a spell before I started making breakfast.”

“Sorry, don’t let me interrupt.”

“No, no.” Derek nodded for him to stay. “I don’t mind the company. It’s just nice to have a morning I don’t have to work. Don’t get a lot of days off doing what I do.”

Stiles settled on the steps, leaning back onto his hands to look up at Derek. “Who’s looking after the farm while you’re gone?”

“My little sister can look after things short term.”

“You work really hard for them,” Stiles said.

“They work hard for me too.” The chair squealed beneath Derek. “Look,” he angled forward, “shooting star.”

“I’ve never seen so many stars. Don’t get out of town much since… It’s, uh, it’s beautiful here.”

“Beautiful.” Derek’s voice had grown soft. Stiles wanted to see what kind of face he made when he spoke like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. Then Derek stood. “Better get started on breakfast.”

* * *

Deer hunting, as it happened, involved a lot of waiting. Excruciating waiting. Stiles had always been hyper, and the two did not mix. Before the sun had even risen, he was bouncing his leg to keep from bolting into the trees to gallop like a deer himself.

It didn’t take Derek long to notice. He silently handed Stiles a book from his gear bag. Stiles didn’t usually read much unless it was about something that interested him like crime solving or porn, but this was a real novel. Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_ , to be precise. Was Derek a literature buff as well as a master chef, landscaper, hunter, and farmer? How did he have the time? He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Stiles, but it was like he’d lived lifetimes more.

For his own sanity, Stiles gave the book a try. And… He didn’t hate it. It wasn’t as pretentious as the other classics he’d been forced to read for school. But after a few chapters his mind started wandering again, and once he started drumming on the side of his rifle—in retrospect a really stupid thing to do—Malia mumbled something about needing to use the restroom and ducked out of their stand.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I’m ruining this for you two, aren’t I? I’m not good at sitting still.”

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Really? I couldn’t tell.” Stiles gave him a dry look which made him laugh. “Don’t sweat it. To be honest, I don’t really bring her up here to hunt. We shoot deer and do target practice sometimes, but this is just an excuse to get her out of her house and spend some time together. Malia’s not a big talker so we sit out here, watching the animals. Sometimes she’ll go off by herself for a while. I let her be alone.”

“She’s not like any girl I’ve ever met,” said Stiles, propping his gun against the stand wall since neither of them seemed particularly interested in shooting anything for the time being. “Most girls I know would faint after just setting foot in these woods.”

“You just haven’t met many girls who aren’t city-slickers or suburban chicks. Plenty of farm girls are just like her. But Malia does have her own flavor of—well, Malia. She’s a good kid.”

“You seem pretty close. I don’t have any cousins or anything. Just me and my dad.”

“There used to be a whole clan of us.” Derek’s eyes focused on some faraway memory. “Big family of farmers. There was a fire. Now there’s just Malia, Cora, Peter, and me.”

“Cora is your sister, right? Then who is Peter?”

The muscles in Derek’s neck tightened. “Malia’s father.”

Derek and Malia kept dancing around the topic of her father. Stiles could tell there was something dark there, but he didn’t want to pry. He moved for a change of subject, waving the copy of _Frankenstein_ between them. “You a big reader?”

That was enough to snap Derek into a lighter mood. He took the book from Stiles and smiled at it fondly. “Not really. I just like this one a lot. I always bring it on hunting trips to read while we wait. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve reread it by this point.”

“It’s—yeah—it seems pretty interesting. I don’t read much, but, uh, I might have to pick up that one sometime.”

Derek held out the book to Stiles again. “You can have mine.”

“Oh, I hate to take your hunting copy.”

“Guess you’ll just have to come again next time we hunt,” chimed Derek with a wink.

“O-oh,” Stiles stammered, his brain needing a minute to process the words and then the realization that he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. “Okay.”

Near midday, they returned to the cabin for a quick lunch of PB&J sandwiches before Derek and Malia lugged an exhausted Stiles down a short trail to the shoreline of a lake.

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” Stiles said.

“I brought an extra,” Derek assured him.

Malia already had hers on under her clothes. Stiles averted his eyes when she started to strip until he realized she had on a red and white polka dotted one-piece. She was in the water and splashing them before Stiles could even shuck his shoes.

Derek provided a pair of blue swim trunks that were a size too big, but once he changed into them behind a bush, he drew the drawstring tight enough to secure them. Derek changed behind a nearby copse of shrubs. From this angle, Stiles could see through the bush covering his lower half, a glimpse of tawny skin smooth over lean muscle all the way from his shoulders down to his...

When Stiles realized he was staring, his face heated.

He hurried to join Malia in the lake. His yelp of surprise at how cold the water was helped disguise his relief at just how cold it was and how that cold would help disguise something else far too disturbing and distasteful for the situation.

Stiles quickly submerged up to his waist despite his nerves’ protests. He was almost glad when Derek charged off a boulder jutting out over the water and cannonballed in a giant splash. At least now there was less of him to see.

The three of them played, dunking each other, Stiles and Malia taking turns riding Derek’s shoulders. Derek and Malia even performed some altogether terrifying cheerleading stunts with Malia standing in the palms of Derek’s hands because, apparently, Malia had been a cheerleader in high school. Malia was strong and toned, her legs and core trained tight. As lovely as she looked though, Stiles kept catching himself staring at Derek’s arms, his chest, whatever skin protruded from the water. The way the muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched and occasionally trembled with strain was entirely too distracting. For some reason Stiles loved the way Derek’s controlled breath made his stomach flutter, his abs working hard to stabilize himself under Malia’s weight. The droplets of water running down Derek’s skin weren’t helping. He wanted to be those droplets. Run his fingers—

What was going on? Stiles had seen plenty of naked men in the locker rooms in school and at the gym. Why was he reacting this way? Scott had gotten more muscular when he started playing lacrosse, but he had never made him feel like this.

Stiles knew for a fact that he liked women. He had always liked women. Hell, Lydia Martin had filled his dreams for the entirety of high school, and he’d loved having sex with her when they’d finally dated in senior year. There had been that boy, Danny Mahealani. Stiles had liked the way he’d smiled, his laugh. But if Malia were to proposition him right now, he would’ve gladly accepted. She was weird, but she was a babe, and Stiles liked her.

He was not a fucking flit.

So why, when Derek Hale flashed a wolfish grin and squirted water at him with his fists, did Stiles’s chest tighten and his dick stir?

The harder he tried to ignore the feelings, the worse they got until the three of them finally clambered onto the shore. It was a relief when Derek put his jeans back on, but he kept his shirt unbuttoned so his abs, the divot between his pectorals, the creep of dark hair peeking out of his waistband, were all on full display.

Stiles trained his eyes on the path back to the cabin.

Derek thankfully changed into a white t-shirt to cook supper. Muttering apologies for not helping, Stiles stole away to his room, desperate for a chance to breathe and think.

But the bedroom smelled like Derek. It was his room after all. His presence lurked in every corner: the photo of his family in the trunk, the initials DH carved into headboard, the work gloves in the side table drawer, the baseball, mitt, and bat propped beneath the window.

Stiles scooped up his pajamas and practically stormed into the bathroom. He needed to shower off the lake anyway.

As he soaped himself up, his dick was half hard already so he figured why not? It had been a while. Maybe all he really needed was some relief and things would go back to normal.

He started with fast jerking motions, eager to get it over with. He tried to conjure images of his go-to masturbation material: Brigitte Bardot, Elizabeth Taylor, Natalie Wood. But his mind would meander, uninterested, and draw on those fresh memories of Derek’s body. That hard-cut, stubbled jaw. Smooth, suntanned skin. A calloused hand on Stiles’s as he stroked himself. That hand squeezing, rubbing in long twisting jerks. Faster. Stiles imagined Derek’s body pressed against his back, his hard-on eager and begging at his ass. Derek’s arms caging him, coaxing Stiles further into him. Stiles shoved his back against the shower wall, disappointed that it was cold tile instead of the hot, sturdy pressure of Derek’s chest. Legs trembling, toes curling, almost cramping, hips stuttering of their own accord, Stiles clawed a fistful of the shower curtain and came hard enough to spatter the far side of the shower. He barely managed to stifle his cry of “Fuck!”

While the tremors worked their way through his system and his mind came back under his control, Stiles stared at the ceiling. Because what the fuck. What had just happened?

His head felt heavy, his thoughts moving slow through the haze of orgasm. He went through the motions of the shower then crawled into bed. He didn’t know how long he lay there, motionless, thoughtless, before a knock sounded. The door was cracked, and Malia peered through.

“You awake?” she asked even though Stiles had already twisted to look at her.

“Yeah. I was just—laying here.”

Malia stared at him as if she didn’t believe him. “Supper’s ready if you want it.” Then she was gone.

“Okay,” Stiles said to the empty room. “Okay.”

Dinner was grilled hamburgers, vegetables, and potatoes. Malia and Derek had taken their food out to the porch to eat with the cicadas and the setting sun. Malia sat in the rocking chair with one leg tucked under her, her plate balanced on her thigh and a smear of ketchup in the corner of her mouth. She really was cute.

But when Stiles moved to sit on the ledge with Derek, his body wavered. Malia was cute, but she didn’t make him feel the way Derek did. His throat closed up. Heat boiled deep in his belly.

With every movement, Stiles thought he would give himself away, that Derek would see what he was really like and shout at him, beat him, kick him out of the cabin and force him to find his way back home through the forest on his own.

But Derek just gave him a satiated smile. He sat against the railing with one knee bent on the first step, the other foot resting two steps down. His head fell back, eyes half-lidded as he watched Stiles eat.

Why did he have to look like that? He looked like he was thinking about the shower scene Stiles had played out only minutes earlier.

“How did you like it?” Derek asked.

Stiles choked on his burger. “What?”

“Deer hunting? The lake? This is your first time out in the woods, right?”

“Oh.” He swallowed painfully. “Yeah. Yeah—great—it was—had a good—time.”

Derek coughed, but Stiles could tell it was to disguise a laugh. “Wore you out, huh? Think you’ll sleep better tonight?”

“Probably not.” Though now he had more reasons than just his missing pillow to thank for that.

“You didn’t sleep well?” Malia asked, crunching on a piece of grilled onion.

“I, uh, forgot my pillow. I can’t even nap without it.”

“I could stay up with you,” Derek said. Stiles’s mind skidded to a halt. “Pull an all-nighter. Drink some Ballantines, play some cards, go skinny-dipping. Used to do it all the time with Cora. Not the skinny-dipping but the beer and cards.”

“I didn’t know that.” Malia sounded offended. “You guys used to stay up without me?”

“Well, you were just a kid back then. Why don’t we all stay up tonight?”

“Yeah,” Stiles jumped in. “All three of us.”

Malia looked like she wanted to argue Derek to the point of going back and changing the past, but she finally sniffed and said, “Okay.”

Malia was not only a lightweight, but a drowsy drunk as well. She was slumped on the couch with drool pooling on the cushion before ten o’clock. Stiles’s anxiety ratcheted to a thousand.

“You’d make a terrible poker player,” Derek mused. He’d had three beers but seemed totally unfazed.

Stiles looked up from his cards. He was on his second beer and was just beginning to feel a buzz. “What?”

“You wear your emotions on your face.”

“Where else am I supposed to wear them?”

Derek laughed. He had a nice laugh. “Fair point. But judging by your face, I’d say you’re either really good at bluffing or you’ve already lost.”

Actually, Stiles’s cards were looking pretty good. He’d only played gin-rummy a few times before, but luck was with him tonight. “Maybe you’re just shit at reading faces.”

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” Overtop of his cards, Derek’s eyes looked oddly intense, and a spike of uncertainty struck through Stiles. There was something he couldn’t read in that stare.

Several minutes later, a squealing cry from outside wrenched up their heads. Derek bolted to his feet and was out the door in seconds. Stiles retrieved a flashlight from his room before following.

“Derek?” he called into the darkness.

“Over here.” A short way down the path to the lake, Derek knelt about a yard away from a cowering fox. Both its hind legs, bloodied and twisted, were snared in a spring trap. It snarled and thrashed when Stiles shown the light on it. “Don’t,” Derek directed gently. “He’s scared enough already, and the light will just blind him.”

“Sorry.” Stiles focused the light on Derek.

“Run back to the cabin. There’s a wire cage out back. Grab it, those leftover burgers, and my gloves. They’re in the—”

“Bedside table, I know. You—you’re not going to try and-and touch it, are you? It could have rabies or something.”

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice wasn’t harsh, but it was firm enough to send him dashing back to the cabin.

In his blind panic, he crashed into just about every object possible, waking up Malia but not stopping to explain. When he couldn’t find the wire cage among the jumble of supplies out back, he nearly started frothing at the mouth until Malia rounded the corner and uncovered the cage from a tarp.

“Raccoon?” she asked knowingly.

“Fox,” Stiles puffed.

She nodded and let him lead the way to where Derek was cooing at the creature. He directed Stiles to position the light so it didn’t shine directly on the fox but gave him and Malia enough light to work. Malia, wearing Derek’s gloves, lifted the wire cage so the opening faced the ground. Derek tossed the burgers to the fox. It seemed confused and tempted but too frightened to shift his attention off the people surrounding him. Malia and Derek crept closer, boxing the fox in so Malia could carefully lower the cage on top. Swift and smooth, Derek jammed the trap’s release mechanism and the teeth fell open. The fox hissed and chittered, dragging its torn hind legs beneath its body as it thrashed inside the cage. Derek and Malia managed to make maneuvering the fox further into the cage and shutting it look easy.

A sigh whined out of Stiles’s lungs. “Holy fuck,” he rasped.

“You got it, Malia?” Derek asked. She nodded and started toward the cabin.

Derek laid a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Go with her. She’ll know what to do until I get back. I have to get rid of this goddamn death hazard. Can’t fucking believe—I mean, one of us could have gotten hurt. Son of a bitch is going too far.”

Something tugged on Stiles, urged him to stay, try to fix whatever was frustrating Derek, but he tore himself away and left Derek to his muttered curses.

In the cabin, Malia was on the phone. “It was a bear trap,” she said. Who would be awake at this hour to answer a call about an injured fox? “They both look broken, but doesn’t look like it punctured any arteries. There’s blood, but it’s not gushing out. Okay. Sorry again for calling so late. I know, but still. Okay, see you soon.”

“Who was that?” Stiles asked.

Malia answered while she started gathering dish towels and laying out newspapers on the floor surrounding the cage. “His name is Deaton. He’s a vet. One of Derek’s friends.”

“What can I do to help?” Stiles asked.

“Boil some water on the stove.” That seemed like the easiest useful thing he could do, but then all he had done before was hold the flashlight while Derek and Malia rescued the fox so he supposed he’d have to make peace with the fact he was out of his depth here.

Derek returned before the water started to boil. He headed straight for the fox who screeched in warning as he approached. The creature huddled into the corner of the cage, mangled legs useless. Stiles shied away, the smell of blood already enough for him.

Deaton must have driven like a madman to get there as quickly as he did. He was a youngish man with a shaved head and a thin mustache. When he arrived, he strode in without even knocking, and Stiles got the impression this was a practiced routine for the three of them, especially when Malia and Derek seemed to already know what Deaton needed before he asked for it. Deaton worked with efficiency. He seemed unfazed when the fox growled and snapped at him. He just continued administering the sedative until the fussing faded. Then he, Derek, and Malia set about cleaning the wounds, adding sutures where necessary, and splinting the broken legs.

The sky was graying by the time they finished. Derek hugged Deaton. “Thank you, man. I hate to keep doing this to you,” said Derek.

“It’s no trouble,” Deaton replied with a weary but genuine smile. “If I didn’t want to do this, I would tell you. Any time day or night, Derek, I meant it.” He spotted Stiles sitting on a stool at the counter. Stepping closer, he held out a hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. Alan Deaton.”

“Stiles. That was really impressive. I didn’t realize vets kept such crazy hours,” Stiles said with a yawn.

“I don’t usually make midnight house calls, but the Hales are a special case. Keeps me on my toes.”

Derek clapped Deaton on the back. “You’re welcome to catch a nap here before you head to the clinic.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I better be on my way.”

Once Deaton was gone, Malia slumped off to her bedroom, but Derek stayed, fussing over the fox cage like he could make it any more comfortable than he already had with the blankets and pillows nestled around it. Finally, he dropped down onto the couch beside Stiles. Stiles began to stand, but Derek nabbed his wrist.

“You don’t have to go,” he said through a yawn. “All-nighter, remember?” He tried for a smile but ended up looking drugged.

“You sure? You look exhausted.”

“Stay.”

Stiles hesitated but finally plopped back down. He hadn’t intended to land so close to Derek, but once he was there, he didn’t want to move, and Derek didn’t show any sign of discomfort. Derek let his head fall back and closed his eyes with his arms outstretched on the couch backrest. After a moment, Stiles tested resting his head on Derek’s arm. He was so warm. Derek smiled without opening his eyes. Stiles let his eyelids drift closed.

When he opened them, he was splayed out on his belly, one arm dangling off the bed. Dried drool crusted his cheek. He grimaced and sat up, rubbing at it.

He’d actually dozed off. How? How had he gotten back to bed? He didn’t remember walking himself back here.

The smell of eggs and pancakes enticed him to his feet and out to the den. Derek stood over a crackling pan with his back to Stiles.

“‘Morning,” Stiles mumbled.

Derek started, whipping around. “Hey. Afternoon, really. Glad you finally got some shuteye.”

“Yeah.” Oh. Had… Had he drifted off on Derek? Had Derek carried him to bed? Stiles silently freaked out while Derek’s back was to him. Then he cleared his throat and managed a vague, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“You know, I’m not really sure. Just. Thanks.”

Derek looked at him over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Okay. You’re welcome, whatever I did.”


	2. Taste of the Fruit of the Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there. Thanks for stopping by. Enjoy the smut. ;)

With the fox to take care of and their lack of sleep, they decided to laze about for the rest of Sunday. Stiles and Malia would travel back to campus together the next morning, and Derek would bring the fox home with him. Malia had christened it Elvis. Derek and Stiles had rolled their eyes. Even Malia was a sucker for the King of Rock and Roll. After breakfast, Derek washed dishes and Stiles dried while Malia coaxed Elvis to eat some hamburger.

“What’ll you do with him?” Stiles asked, nodding over his shoulder at Elvis.

“Nurse him back to health. Set him free. With luck that’s how it usually goes.”

“So you’re a chef, a farmer, a landscaper, a hunter, and now a veterinarian. Are you Superman, too?”

Derek smiled absently, but his voice went soft, his mind somewhere distant. “My mom loved animals. She was always really good with them, and she’d worked in an animal clinic for a few years before she had kids. She taught me pretty much everything I know from farming to finances.”

“Sounds like she was a great mom.”

“She was.”

As evening descended, Derek, wanting to give Elvis some peace and quiet, hauled them all down to the lake to have a picnic for supper. Malia had protested, worried he’d hurt himself while they were gone, but Derek assured her he’d probably sleep the whole time.

The picnic was a fat spread of bread and preservatives, peanut butter, and fruit—and, yes, that included peaches.

“I thought you didn’t bring any,” Stiles accused light-heartedly.

“The edge of my orchard may be half a mile that way. I may have gone on a trip while you were napping,” said Derek with a sly smile.

“Give me one of those.” Stiles snatched a peach from the basket. It was just the right balance of juicy and crunchy, and Stiles held the peach up to the sky like an offering to the gods. “Sweet nectar.”

“Have as many as you want. They’ll be out of season soon. Then I’ll have to start growing pumpkins for the Fall Festival.”

“Damn.”

“I’ll save my first crop of peaches next year for you. Deliver truckloads right to your dorm.”

Stiles laughed. He warmed at the thought of still being friends with Derek next year. Was he sure he wanted to be? Derek confused him so much. It might be best to keep his distance. Then again, as conflicted as he was, Stiles did like Derek’s company, and he hoped to stay friends with Malia.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Derek lobbed a chunk of apple in the air and caught it in his mouth. Stiles hated the prickle of heat that burrowed under his skin at that.

“I was just thinking I hope I’ll still be friends with you and Malia next year,” admitted Stiles.

“Of course you will,” Malia said matter-of-factly as she observed ants swarm the breadcrumbs she had sprinkled on their hill.

“Yeah.” Derek clapped him on the shoulder. His hand lingered just a second too long, squeezing. Stiles stared at him, but Derek kept his eyes on the water before them.

A boldness swelled in Stiles. “I think I’m going for a swim.”

“You don’t have trunks,” Malia pointed out.

Stiles’s heart thumped in his chest. “So?” He stripped down to his briefs and clambered up onto the overhang Derek had cannonballed from the day prior. With a war cry that sounded slightly less fierce than intended, he catapulted himself into the water. It was just as cold as before, but the sting felt exhilarating.

When he surfaced, Derek and Malia stood at the water’s edge shaking their heads at him and laughing.

“C-come on in. The w-water’s fine,” Stiles stammered through chattering teeth.

Derek didn’t hesitate. He shed his boots, jeans, and flannel and leapt from the ledge with a wolf howl. Stiles called to Malia, but she shook her head. “I’m going to go check on Elvis. You two don’t freeze out here.”

Stiles’s bravery evaporated with every step she took up the path. He was alone with Derek. Both of them in their underwear. What exactly had he planned here? Oh, right. He hadn’t.

Derek swam in long graceful strokes around him. “If she’s gone, I’m just going to…” In the next instant he lifted his boxers, dripping, out of the water and flung them onto the shore. Stiles swallowed hard. “You don’t have to, Stiles,” he said with a laugh. “I just like swimming naked.”

“Right.” Stiles’s voice came out squeakier than he would have liked. “I’ll just—I’m going to keep—I mean—”

“That’s fine.” Derek floated on his back, giving Stiles a devilish smirk. “I’m not embarrassing you, am I, Peaches?”

Stiles kept his eyes staunchly north of Derek’s bellybutton but couldn’t manage to form actual words, just stammering a bunch of nonsensical syllables that ended up sounding vaguely affirmative.

“Well, don’t be so embarrassed!” Derek tackled Stiles with a laugh. His naked chest rubbed along Stiles’s arm, his nipples erect from the cold. Stiles yelped and splashed in an effort to keep from going under. Derek backed off, laughing.

“I’m not—I’m not embarrassed.” Stiles shoved Derek’s chest.

“No? Then you won’t mind if I…” Derek’s hands crept around Stile’s waist underwater and started tickling him.

Stiles thrashed wildly, laughing. “Sto-stop! I’m going to drown!”

“I won’t let you,” Derek said, stilling his hands, but they stayed where they were at Stiles’s waist. They treaded water so closely that Stiles could feel Derek’s kicks moving the water around him, tiny eddying currents tugging him closer into Derek’s space. In the dying light of dusk, Derek’s eyes washed into a gray so transparent they were almost like water. His stubble glistened with droplets. Stiles wanted to lick them from his beard.

Derek seemed to realize that he was too close to Stiles and started to pull away, a sad look overcoming his expression. Stiles reached out unconsciously and placed a hand on his shoulder. Derek paused. He looked at Stiles questioningly. He knew. He knew what Stiles felt, and he was waiting for him to make a decision.

Stiles surged forward and slammed his lips against Derek’s. It wasn’t a kiss so much as punching Derek’s face with his own. Stiles reared back, covering his mouth, embarrassed.

Then Derek, chuckling softly, cradled the back of Stiles’s head and drew him in for a real kiss. It was gentle and chaste at first. Derek murmured, “It’s okay. Slow,” as if he sensed Stiles’s uncertainty and was letting him discover what this was for himself. He discovered that he liked it. A lot.

Derek’s stubble scratching his lips and chin was a new sensation, a rough one, but it was grounding and comforting. Derek’s tongue flicked at his lips in a question, and Stiles parted them in answer. Derek nudged Stiles closer with an arm around his hips. Their cocks pressed together through Stiles’s briefs. They were still soft in the cold water, but the feel of Derek’s dick through just one thin layer of clothing sent a thrill straight through Stiles’s groin, enough so that he forgot to keep himself above the surface.

They started to dip, and their lips broke apart. With an amused huff, Derek swam them to where their feet reached. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and went straight back into their kiss. His fingers threaded through slick hair. He yanked gently, and the low keen from Derek’s throat started Stiles’s dick twitching.

“It’s too cold,” Stiles muttered between kisses.

Derek nodded. He backed toward the shore, without letting Stiles out of his arms, then rotated so Stiles walked backward as they climbed out of the water. Stiles shivered in the evening air. The sun was gone now, stars studding the sky.

Breaking away briefly, Derek snatched up his own flannel and draped it over Stiles’s shoulders. It smelled like Derek’s shampoo. Stiles was disappointed he couldn’t make out the details of Derek’s bare body in the low light, but the knowledge that he was naked in front of him, the mystery of what he looked like, was its own kind of arousing. Stiles’s skin was so sensitive now he could feel every bead of lake water trailing down his skin. When Derek’s knuckles skimmed up his arm, he sucked in a breath.

“Fuck.”

“You okay?” Derek asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah. It’s-it’s just a lot—there’s a lot of—I don’t know. I mean, I’m fine, you know? This is just insane, and I can’t really believe I’m doing it, and now I’m talking too much because I’m nervous and—”

“Here. Sit down.” Derek backed him up to the picnic blanket and helped Stiles lower himself down before kneeling in front of him. He kissed Stiles and mashed their foreheads together. “You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“Okay. Okay. This is—yeah. So—”

“I won’t push you. We won’t go far.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” By the tone of his voice, he knew the answer.

“Not-not with a guy.”

“Do you want me to keep kissing you?”

Stiles swallowed. It was almost worse for him to have to answer than for Derek to just do it. As if not admitting that he wanted it would allow him an excuse later on. But he wouldn’t do that to Derek.

“Yes,” Stiles breathed.

Derek kissed him, deep and lavish, his tongue caressing the roof of Stiles’s mouth. He folded an arm around Stiles’s shoulders and laid him onto his back. The ground was lumpy under the blanket but not uncomfortable. Derek straddled Stiles’s hips, resting one forearm beside Stiles’s head. His other hand traced down Stiles’s jaw, down his neck and clavicle to tease his nipple, making him buck. Derek shushed him, biting gently at his jaw.

Stiles returned the favor, exploring Derek’s body, tentative at first, then hungry. The hills of his shoulders, curves of his arms, the sturdy sinews of his back. He clenched Derek’s ass, plump and rounder than a man’s ass had any right to be. Derek growled into his mouth. He tongued up Stiles’s jaw to his ear, sucking and biting. Then he dragged his teeth down his neck. Stiles tilted his head back to give him more access because, fuck, that felt good. Derek nibbled and kissed, nibbled and kissed down, down, down until he reached Stiles’s nipple and sucked. Stiles made a sound unlike anything he’d ever made before, and his own voice set his cock twitching.

In a surge of desire for more of Derek and to reciprocate, Stiles reached for Derek’s front, but a hold on his wrist halted him.

“You don’t have to,” Derek panted. “It’s your first time. Let me make it good for you.”

Stiles tried to complain that he wanted to, but there was still a bite of fear trapping the words in his throat. He let Derek place his hand on his head. Stiles tugged his hair again, and Derek’s breath wetting the skin just below his navel made him squirm. He felt rather than heard Derek chuckle as he kissed Stiles’s happy trail.

Stiles’s dick was fully hard now and straining against his briefs. Derek bit the waistband, yanked, and let it snap back. Stiles’s hand shot to his mouth to stifle his cry. Suddenly, there was hot breath on his cock through his underpants, and he was doubly glad to have his fist to bite.

He was abruptly aware that they were out in the open where anybody could stumble upon them—unlikely as that was this deep in the woods. His mind started playing worst case scenarios, and the mood started to sour as he realized what doing this meant. But then Derek’s mouth was on his dick. Through the fabric, he lapped at the shaft of Stile’s dick. Stiles’s hips jerked, his legs coaxing apart. Derek’s hands on Stiles’s ankles bent his knees so they hooked over his shoulders. Somewhere in Stiles’s mind he realized he should feel embarrassed about this position, but Derek’s mouth consumed his world. Precum leaked through his briefs, dick ready to burst when Derek finally ripped his underwear down his legs and flung them aside before diving back in. His cock now free, Stiles shuddered at the kiss of open air. Derek nuzzled his balls, licking and teasing. He burrowed his nose into Stiles’s pubic hair and sniffed. Teeth bit the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

Finally, Derek held Stiles’s shaft in one palm and closed his lips over the head. Both of Stiles’s hands flew to Derek’s hair, stroking and yanking intermittently. When Derek groaned, Stiles almost came, but Derek’s mouth popped off. “Not yet,” he rumbled.

Stiles whimpered as Derek kept his sucking shallow, focusing on the head, torturing, until Stiles was writhing under him. Then he plunged down to the base once, twice, three times, and Stiles came with a stuttering shout. Derek bobbed his head up and down, stroking Stiles through the orgasm with his mouth until it was almost too much, too sensitive.

Tremors shook Stiles’s muscles, everything too weak to control. Derek untangled himself from his legs and shifted to sit beside him. Stiles covered his eyes with one hand. “Holy fucking fuck.”

“Hope that’s a good ‘holy fucking fuck.’” Derek still sounded a little out of breath.

“Y-yeah,” Stiles said, his faculties recovering “Um. I’m—sorry. I didn’t mean to-to—”

“Come in my mouth?”

“Yeah,” Stiles squeaked.

“I wanted you to.”

Well, fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing Stiles had ever heard. “Okay.” Stiles’s voice was barely audible anymore. He coughed and tried for a more manly sound. “Did-did you, um… You know?”

“No, but it’s okay. I can take care of it at the cabin. It’s cold so we should—”

“Wait.” Finally, Stiles managed to sound firm. Derek was silent, and Stiles realized he was doing as he’d asked. “I—uh—well, it’s just—it’s not fair. For you. I mean. I can—I mean, I don’t think I could do—like _that_ , but—”

“Stiles. You really don’t have to. I told you. This is your first time doing something like this with a man. It’s okay to be unsure. You don’t have to jump straight into doing everything all at once. You can ease into it.”

He stood and started gathering his clothes. Stiles ruffled his hair in frustration—mostly with himself. He would never be this inconsiderate with a girl, and even if he was still confused and uncertain about doing this with Derek, he knew he wanted to treat him better than this. He deserved better.

Derek had just slipped on his jeans—without his boxers on because they were still soaking wet—by the time Stiles’s resolve solidified. He rose to his feet and hooked Derek by the arm. Still uncertain in his motions, he almost slammed Derek against the tree instead of seductively cornering him. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But-but I want to do this for you. Because it really isn’t fair if you don’t—finish too. But that’s not even it. I don’t want to do this just to return the favor or because it’s the polite thing to do. I want to do this because…” He struggled for the words. “Because I want you. If-if you want me, anyway.”

Derek dusted his fingers up Stiles’s arm. “Of course I want you. I’ve wanted you since you tried my peaches and acted like eating one was enough to make you orgasm.”

Stiles’s cheeks flushed. “I did not.”

“My mistake.” Derek laughed. “Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see.” He kissed Stiles gently. Stiles recoiled slightly at the taste of his own cum. It was bitter and salty and incredibly arousing. Was this how Derek’s tasted? He didn’t think he was ready for that, but in the back of his mind he thought he might be one day.

“Can I?” Stiles asked into Derek’s mouth.

“Mmhmm.”

Stiles’s hand drifted slow, fingertips gliding over Derek’s abdomen. He played with Derek’s pubic hair, partly for foreplay and partly to stall because even though he wanted this, he was still scared. He ought to apologize for being such a coward.

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered into his ear, as if reading his mind. “It’s okay.”

Stiles kissed Derek’s neck and dipped his hand into his unzipped jeans. His cock was big. Longer but narrower than Stiles’s. For a moment, Stiles just held it. “I’ve never held another man’s dick.”

“What do you think?” Derek asked cheekily.

“It’s weird. Good weird.”

“Good,” Derek breathed against his cheek. “Do you want me to show you how I like it?”

That somehow seemed like cheating but at the same time unbelievably sexy. “Okay.”

Derek enfolded Stiles’s hand in his and began guiding him through short slow strokes. He dropped his forehead onto Stiles’s shoulder, letting Stiles support more of his weight as the tension grew in his body. Stiles took the opportunity to bite and lick the nape of his neck, and Derek gasped, hips bucking into Stiles’s hand.

“Yes,” he moaned. “More.”

Derek squeezed their hands tighter, his dick slick with precum and painfully stiff. Together they pumped faster, shallower. Stiles reached his other hand for a handful of Derek’s ass, crushing him into the tree with a knee between his legs, spreading them apart. Derek’s breath grew ragged as he neared orgasm, his cock twitching and straining. He reached his free hand down to fondle his balls, and Stiles couldn’t believe how sexy that simple action was.

Stiles sank his teeth into Derek’s nape one more time, sucking and then soothing with his tongue, and Derek’s hips jerked forward. He hid his face on Stiles’s shoulder, muffling his grunts as he came. Even as Derek’s hand fell away, Stiles moved his fist along Derek’s dick, working him through the fading aftershocks of his climax.

Derek let out an unsteady breath before leaning back against the tree. “Damn.”

“Good ‘damn,’ I hope?” Stiles’s voice broke, but he didn’t care.

“Definitely. Here.” Derek lifted Stiles’s hand—covered in cum—to his lips. Stiles would have given anything in that moment to see what Derek looked like licking his own cum from Stiles’s fingers. Feeling him suck his fingers, his tongue sliding up and down them, was maddening enough, though. If he got the visual, he might pass out.

“We should really get back to the cabin now,” said Derek once he’d licked every inch of Stiles’s hand.

“Right.”

They dressed and packed up the picnic in silence, but on the trek up the path, they strolled unnecessarily close to one another, gently bumping into each other every few feet as if having some secret conversation through the light knocking of their arms.

* * *

Scott was more in love with Allison than when Stiles had left. The evening after getting back from the cabin, Stiles was at his desk trying to memorize vocabulary while Scott lounged in his bed tossing a lacrosse ball and catching it absently. “We went to some movie, but I didn’t really pay attention. I think James Dean was in it. The girls picked it. Oh, did I tell you? Allison’s friend I told you about? It’s Lydia.”

Stiles’s fingers flinched, flipping his flashcard across the dorm. “What?”

“Yeah. Lydia Martin. It was really awkward when I first got there and Allison was talking to her. I started feeling paranoid Lydia had told her a bunch of embarrassing stuff from high school, but she was really nice to me the whole night. I mean, sassy, but that’s just Lydia.”

“You almost put me up to a blind date with my ex-girlfriend?” Stiles was still stuck on the fact that even though she was going to a different university, one far more prestigious than Beacon Hills University, she had still managed to find her way back into his life. Undoubtedly, if Scott and Allison ended up going steady, Lydia would be hanging around with her.

“Yeah. Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t stay, huh?”

Memories of Derek’s hands on him, his lips kissing Stiles— “Yeah. Guess so.” He chewed his lip. “How did Allison even meet her?”

Scott propped himself on his elbow to beam at Stiles. “That’s the cool part. Allison saved Lydia. She was walking home from her dad’s shop one night and heard Lydia scream. Some punk was trying to steal her purse, and Allison just flew in like a ninja and kicked his ass.” He mimed some truly terrible approximation of kicking ass. “Her dad taught her self-defense. She even knows how to use a gun. I don’t even know how to use a gun!”

Where were all these strange women coming from? First Malia with her clothes and her weird personality, now Allison with her guns and kicking ass.

“Oh, speaking of guns, how was your weekend? Did you actually shoot any deer?”

Stiles blinked, his mouth hanging open. Derek’s breath dusting his skin, his low voice in his ear, the scrape of his stubble— “Nope, no, no shoot no deer—didn’t shoot the deers. Didn’t-didn’t really shoot anything.” He pursed his lips and tried for a casual lean on the back of his chair. Scott gave him that familiar confused-smile-crooked-eyebrow look. “We, uh, we saved a fox.”

“Woah, really?”

“Yeah. It was—it actually was trapped in, like, a bear trap? Derek said his neighbor keeps putting traps on his property because a lot of vermin come from the forest he keeps. Which I told him is crazy illegal, and he should, you know, call the police on him, but he just shrugged me off. I told him don’t come crying to me when he lands himself in one of those things and loses a foot. But the guy is unhinged enough to take an injured fox home to nurse it back to health so…” Stiles shrugged, tapping his temple for emphasis.

“Derek is the cousin?”

“Y-yeah. Remember the farmer guy we met during orientation?”

“Oh, right, with the peaches.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yes, the damn peaches.”

The corner of Scott’s mouth twitched in confusion.

Stiles waved away the comment. “Doesn’t matter. Are you going out with Allison again?”

Scott, all too satisfied to revert the conversation to Allison, flopped back down to stare at the ceiling, a goofy grin on his uneven face. “Yeah. We’re going bowling Friday after class. You should come.”

“Is Lydia going to be there?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll see,” Stiles sighed, knowing he would end up going.

The next day, Stiles and Scott had chemistry together, but instead of Professor Trent, in tromped Annie. She was apparently the TA for the class. Professor Trent had better things to do than teach his freshman chemistry course, so Annie was left holding the bill.

Stiles was tempted to duck the fuck out of class. Annie would be able to smell Derek on him for sure. She’d see him and just know. That was how it worked, right?

Scott furrowed his eyebrows when Stiles slumped down in his seat, eyes darting around the lecture hall, plotting an escape route.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked.

“Hm?” Stiles tried to somehow make crumpling into as small an object as possible seem normal. “Nothing. This—I’m fine. What’s wrong with you?”

Scott shook his head in bemusement. Annie started lecturing, and Stiles’s paranoia subsided into a dull anxiety. Annie had no way of knowing what had happened. Besides, she was Derek’s ex, she had no reason to know what Derek had been up to. Then again, Stiles and Scott had overheard them together in that classroom before the start of term. The way they had talked—not that Stiles cared if Derek was seeing Annie. Or if Derek was seeing anyone. At all. Why should he care?

Stiles tried focusing on the lecture, but his eyes kept zeroing in on Annie without listening to what she was saying. What had Derek’s relationship with her been like? Was he gay or did he just have sex with anyone? Not that what they’d done was really sex. Stiles was not a fairy. But Derek seemed…experienced.

That thought brought a whole host of images to Stiles’s mind that he quickly swept under the rug that was starting to look less like a rug and more like a pile of miscellaneous items, one of which happened to be a rug. He needed a bigger mind rug.

“You can copy mine later.” Scott’s voice was more jarring than a car crashing into the lecture hall.

“What?”

Scott nodded at Stiles’s blank notebook as he stowed his own papers and pencils in his backpack. All the other students were packing up as well. The lecture was over.

“I saw you staring at Annie the whole time. Really playing the field, huh? First Malia, now Annie. You better not start staring at Allison like that,” Scott teased.

“I was—Annie? No. No, no, no. I’m just, uh… Tired! Yeah. Tired. Couldn’t concentrate. Practically snoozing with my eyes open.” Stiles stretched open his eyes with his fingers and snored.

As they exited the lecture hall, Stiles almost immediately spotted Derek skulking in a dark corner. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were hunched like he was trying his best not to be seen. Stiles wheeled in the opposite direction.

Scott stopped though, an impish light in his eyes. “Hey, look. She’s talking to that Derek guy. They’re dating or something, aren’t they?”

“Um. No. No, he—uh, he said she was his ex.”

Scott punched him in the shoulder. “Well, go talk to them. He’s your friend now, right? Maybe he can put in a good word for you.”

Stiles shook his head, vomit rising in his throat. “I don’t think that’s a good—they look like they’re having a private—no—Scott—” It was too late. As Scott hauled Stiles toward Derek and Annie, Derek caught sight of them. Fear washed over his face before he recomposed himself. What was he nervous about? It wasn’t like Stiles could saying anything without incriminating himself.

“Hey,” said Scott, interrupting whatever Annie had been rambling about. She scowled at Scott and Stiles.

“What?” she snapped. The way she moved in front of Derek as if guarding him pissed off Stiles for some reason. Maybe it was the ill expression he wore behind her.

“Miss Lancaster, this is Stiles,” Derek said. “And you must be Scott. He talked a lot about you. They’re friends of mine, Miss Lancaster.”

Eyes appraising, Annie arranged her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. “I remember you from orientation. Settling in well?”

“Yeah, we’re doing great,” said Scott. He looked to Stiles expectantly, but when the silence hung on, he continued, “I really enjoyed your lecture.”

Annie gave him a fake laugh and caressed his arm. “Oh, thank you. It was nothing. Now, we really must be going. Derek and I have a lot to talk about. It was lovely seeing you two again.” Her toothy smile didn’t reach her eyes. Derek shot Stiles the briefest of confusing looks—apologetic? Pleading? Worried? All of the above?—before letting her lead him away.

That night, Stiles slogged back to the dorm by himself, Scott having left for his job waiting tables at Pop’s Kitchen just off campus. Stiles had considered getting a job to help pay for tuition, but his dad had shut him down, telling him to focus on his studies.

Their dorm was on the third floor, and as soon as Stiles crested the landing, he spied the lone box sitting in front of their door. It was a small wooden crate bearing the Hale company stamp and stacked full with pinkish-orange peaches. Underneath lay a piece of paper. Stiles read it as he closed the door behind him:

_Last harvest of the season. Sorry about today._

_DH_

The crate of peaches bounced as Stiles hopped onto his bed with them. One rolled to the floor. He picked it up and turned it in his hand.

This was all so confusing. Derek had nothing to apologize for because they weren’t a couple. They weren’t anything to each other. But Stiles clutched the fruit to his chest, to the warm traitorous ache blossoming there.

* * *

Two weeks lapsed before Stiles met Derek again. He went to class, did his homework, studied well into the night when his insomnia acted up. He went bowling with Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Malia. Lydia was surprisingly civil. She even complimented Malia’s hair, which, coming from Lydia, was a Hollywood seal of approval since she had been a trend setter since elementary school.

Scott spent more and more time with Allison, but he usually invited Stiles. He seemed to feel sorry for Stiles since, despite befriending Malia and getting on with Lydia, he wasn’t going on dates with anybody. Stiles played it off, saying he was too focused on school.

In reality, he couldn’t imagine kissing the girl whose male cousin had sucked him off mere days ago. Malia didn’t seem interested in changing their relationship either. She was content just to have friends for once. Stiles was glad he could do that for her, bring her into his circle and give her more than Derek to rely on for safety and companionship. Allison and Malia bonded over guns, and Allison even taught her some self-defense moves.

Stiles didn’t dare asked Malia about Derek. He wished he didn’t want to ask about him, but his mind always inevitably wandered back to that weekend, especially when she was present.

On one such occasion, his mind reliving the memories, he was strolling past the library when he recognized a pair of broad shoulders clad in plaid. His feet ferried him toward Derek as if set on rails.

“Hey,” said Stiles.

Derek squinted up from tinkering with a lawn mower, sweat dripping from his temple. “Stiles.” He sounded surprised.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Stiles waved awkwardly. There was a long silence that made Stiles’s skin itch. “So, you know, thanks for those peaches. Everybody was jealous, but I shared. Didn’t want them going bad before I could eat them all.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

Was Derek thinking of that night by the lake? Was he remembering the things they had said to each other? The things they had done to each other? Stiles certainly was. And with Derek standing there, looking directly at him, the memories sparked all the way down to his dick. He shifted, hoping he didn’t develop a full-on boner.

“Stiles?”

“Hm?”

Derek searched his face for a minute before coming to some decision. “If you want to talk about something, how about we meet up later?”

_Talk about something._

It was like code. Their own secret language only for the two of them.

“Okay,” Stiles said.

“The Toadstool? Off Reddington Street? Let’s say eight tonight.”

“See you then, Derek.”

“See you,” Derek hesitated, “Peaches.”

Stiles groaned and turned to be on his way, hiding the grin he couldn’t resist.

The Toadstool was a dingy little pub patronized mostly by gruff looking men and women who obviously worked hard labor jobs. Being a fairly self-aware person, Stiles had to wonder if he would make it out of this place alive. When he entered, Derek was nowhere to be seen. His heart palpitated. Half because Derek wasn’t there yet and half because every person who looked at him gave the distinct impression they would like to use his femurs for pool sticks.

Stiles claimed a seat at the bar in classic Stiles fashion: toppling the stool, loudly fumbling to right it, and spilling a drink on the bar in the process. He gaped at the man whose drink was currently dripping onto the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry—I—let me—”

“Friend, the hell you doing in a place like this?” said the man. He had a bushy beard and wore a leather jacket that wouldn’t zip over his rotund belly. “You ought to go on back to your little frat parties, kid.” Was it that obvious he was a student?

“Relax, Rudy.” Derek was suddenly between them, patting Rudy’s shoulder. “He’s a friend of mine.”

Rudy looked between them then laughed. “You sure keep some strange company, Hale. Hey, how’s that little cousin of yours doing? Sweet kid. She still in school?”

“She’s doing great. Stiles here is actually helping her a lot with schoolwork. He’s her new best friend.” Derek gave Stiles a warm look.

“That so?” Rudy eyed Stiles curiously. Something slotted into place behind his eyes. He lowered his voice and inclined his head toward Derek. “You vouching for this kid, Derek?”

Derek met his gaze and nodded.

Rudy bunched his lips and puffed a disbelieving sound. “All right then. You boys enjoy yourselves.”

“Thank you,” Derek started to guide Stiles away, but Stiles resisted, digging in his pocket.

“Sorry about your drink,” said Stiles, flopping several crinkled bills onto the bar.

Rudy raised his eyebrows then lightly punched Stiles’s shoulder. “Stay safe, kid.”

Stiles frowned but let Derek guide him to a small booth in the back corner. They settled across from each other. Derek’s hair was still damp from a shower, the scent of soap wafting from him. Almost as soon as they were seated, a young woman with black hair and a firefly necklace placed a glass of amber liquid in front of Derek.

“Usual,” she said, then switched her smile to Stiles. “What can I get you?”

“Just, uh, a Cola.”

“Got it.” She moved to leave but hesitated. “Malia doing good?” Her dark eyes darted to Derek’s face then away.

A gentle smile tugged at Derek’s lips. “She’s great. I’ll tell her to stop by soon.”

The waitress’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open. “Oh, that’s not—you don’t have to do that. I’ll just, um, go get your Cola.” She scurried off.

“What was that about?” Stiles asked.

“She’s had a crush on Malia for a long time.”

“Ma—Malia? She—?”

Derek let Stiles flounder for several minutes before explaining. “Kira likes men and women. Rudy is gay. Everybody in this bar is gay. Except, funnily enough, the owner. Kira’s mom, Mrs. Yukimura, is happily married to a man.”

Stiles blanched. “This—this is a gay bar?” he hissed, leaning across the table.

Derek ducked across so their faces were mere inches apart. “This is a gay bar,” he whispered. He sat back. “We don’t talk about it out loud much since that would kind of defeat the purpose. But this is a safe place for all kinds of societal outcasts. Mrs. Yukimura only serves regulars or people vouched for by regulars. She makes sure word only circulates through the right channels. She’s quiet and careful. We can talk more freely here than pretty much anywhere.”

“Cool, cool.” Stiles glanced at the rest of the patrons. Rudy was gay. Kira had a crush on Malia. “So is Malia gay?”

“Yes.”

Stiles’s brain shorted out.

Derek scrutinized him over the rim of his glass as he took a swig. “Is it all right that I brought you here?” The question was gentle, almost afraid.

Stiles’s chest ached. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Nobody knows about this place. There aren’t even rumors about it, so if someone sees you here, they won’t get suspicious.” Kira reappeared with a Coke bottle. Stiles glugged down several mouthfuls. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Stiles nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s just a lot.”

“I should have warned you, but I wanted to… Well, I wanted to test you, to be honest. We didn’t talk after what happened, and when I saw you outside that lecture hall you looked like you were going to hurl on my shoes. I wasn’t sure if you regretted what happened. It’s fine if you do.”

“I-no. I don’t. Regret. No…” Stiles’s word vomit trailed off as Derek’s gaze softened. “I think I’m still confused, you know? Because I—well, you said earlier that Kira likes both? Well, I never really liked men that way. Until. You. But I still—I still like women.” Stiles’s halting speech felt like retching up nails. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay to be confused. Maybe you and Kira should talk sometime.”

Stiles tilted his head to the side. “So you… You only…?”

“Only.”

“But Annie?”

“I’m ashamed to say it, but I used Miss Lancaster to pretend I was something I wasn’t.”

“But she still seems so…”

“Pushy? Clingy? Yeah. Let’s not talk about her.”

“Okay.” Stiles drank from his Coke. “So. So what—what are we?”

Derek lifted his eyebrows. “Pretty forward for a confused man. We don’t have to be anything. We had fun.”

Stiles eyed him through his lashes. “Can-can we have fun again sometime?”

Derek wiped a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh. “Um. Sure, Peaches. If you want.”

Stiles’s cock responded eagerly. “When?”

Derek choked on his drink. “Jesus, Stiles.”

Smooth, Stiles. Desperation is always sexy. He sat back in his booth, trying to regain some composure.

“Are you serious?” Derek asked after his coughing fit. He didn’t look incredulous or mocking like Stiles had feared he would. No, there was sincerity in his expression, hopeful curiosity.

“For once in my life, yes,” said Stiles.

Derek’s gaze shifted around the bar. “Finish your drink. Then we’ll go.”

Stiles downed the rest of his soda in several gulps, spluttering toward the end when it went down the wrong pipe. Derek just laughed into his glass, continuing to sip sparingly.

For once, Stiles was glad not to have a car so he wouldn’t have to worry about leaving it in the parking lot of a bar as he climbed into the passenger seat of Derek’s red truck. It was the same truck Malia had picked him up in for the hunting trip.

They rode in companionable silence, letting the tension in the air speak for them. On the winding country roads, Derek reached over and took Stiles’s hand. Their fingers knitted together. Stiles closed his eyes, the gentle stroke of Derek’s thumb on his hand lulling him into a heady daze.

The crunch of gravel signaled their arrival. Derek’s farmhouse was small and dark. One lone lamp lit the front porch. A dark shape darted out from the front door to meet them with a barrage of barks.

A brown and white border collie leapt on Derek the moment he opened the door. “Sniper, down,” he commanded, firm but kind. Sniper sat, a ball of barely contained energy. “She keeps the house safe when I’m away,” said Derek as they climbed up to the porch. Sniper sniffed every inch of Stiles she could reach.

“Hey, girl.” Stiles extended his hand for her to inspect before reaching to pet her between the ears. Her fur was soft and clean.

“Did Elvis behave, Snipes?” Derek asked as he hung up his jacket by the door and stepped out of his boots.

“Oh, yeah. How’s he doing?” Stiles followed Derek through the den to a bedroom that didn’t look like it belonged to Derek. This was Cora’s bedroom, creepy paintings of skulls and deathly butterflies, sculptures of animal skeletons, a bra slung over the lampshade. At least, Stiles hoped this wasn’t Derek’s room.

In one corner sat Elvis’s crate. Sniper trotted closer, sticking her nose through the cage bars. Elvis didn’t shrink away or screech, just sniffed at Sniper then regarded Derek calmly.

“He’s so different,” said Stiles.

Derek knelt to let Elvis smell him through the bars. “Treat an animal with kindness and they’ll figure out sooner or later you don’t mean them any harm. Trick is to survive until that point.”

“Hilarious.”

“He’s healing really well. Deaton is hoping we can release him in a few months or so. Eventually he’ll need to get back on his feet and moving so he doesn’t get too weak to move at all. Snipes will help him with that, won’t you, girl?” He clamped a playful hand around her muzzle, making her sneeze.

Stiles smiled. “You’re a really good person.” The innocent look Derek gave him confirmed what Stiles suspected. Derek had no clue just how rare people like him were. “Seriously. You work your ass off to pay for not only your sister’s college but your cousin’s too. You rescue an injured fox. You’re obviously a great dog owner, right, Sniper?” The corners of Derek’s eyes crinkled as Stiles crouched to love on Sniper. “And,” Stiles kept his eyes glued to where his hands rested in her brown fur, “you were so gentle and kind with me that night.”

Derek didn’t say anything. Stiles finally had to look up to meet his gaze. Derek’s face was open, and there was so much warmth there it was almost frightening.

It almost looked like...

For the first time since leaving The Toadstool, Stiles questioned what he was doing. One look into Derek’s eyes gave him the answer. Fuck. Stiles wanted this. Whatever it was. They both did.

“Derek, I don’t know how to do any of this.” Fear lent a pathetic wobble to Stiles’s voice, but he wanted to do this right. It was what Derek deserved. He was a better man than any person deserved. But he didn’t know what the right way was. “I’m sorry.”

“Stiles, it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything—”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Derek waited while Stiles collected his thoughts. “I want to spend tonight ‘having fun’ with you. I definitely, _really_ want to do that. I just feel like you deserve more than I can give you right now.”

“Do you mean physically? Because I’m not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“No, not physically—well, yes, actually, physically too, but I meant emotionally, and I-I just don’t know what I’m trying to say.” Stiles groaned and buried his face in Sniper’s fur.

Derek chuckled. “Come on,” he said, and Stiles felt a light nudge in the middle of his back. Derek led the way across the hall to another bedroom. Sniper whined when he shut the door on her, cooing, “Sorry, girl. Privacy.”

Derek’s room was full of color, an ivy hung in front of the window, an orchid on the dresser, patterned quilts draped over the bed and the chair in the corner, a dreamcatcher above the bed. He had pictures of young Cora and Malia on his wall. Beside them were children’s drawings. Cora’s were obviously the weird ones of wolfish shadow faces.

The bed creaked as Derek lowered himself onto it, his back against the headboard. In the dim light of the one lamp on his nightstand, the sharp lines of his face softened, the starkness of his pale eyes gentled. He opened his arms. “Sit with me.”

This time they could see each other, and Stiles fought down the feelings of awkwardness. He nestled himself between Derek’s legs, his back to Derek’s chest, and their feet spread on the mattress.

“Close your eyes.”

Stiles let his eyelids shut. He expected to feel Derek’s hands on him at any moment, but they both stayed motionless like that for several minutes.

Finally, his breath tickling Stiles’s ear, Derek whispered, “Do you want me to touch you?”

Oh, shit.

“Yes, please.” Heat flooded Stiles’s body as if the words were an incantation.

Derek moved slowly, feathering his knuckles down Stiles’s arms. His lips brushed Stiles’s ear, not a kiss, just a press of skin to skin, his breath coiling around the shell. Stiles tilted his head back, exposing his neck in hopes of a kiss there. Derek did not disappoint. All soft, sloppy lips and tongue, he enticed a whine from Stiles’s throat.

Fingers traversed Stiles’s chest. He still had his shirt on and longed very much to change that, but he let Derek set the pace, teasing the hem up his stomach, sneaking one hand underneath to pinch his nipples. Stiles’s cock hardened in sync with his nipples.

Arching his back to meet Derek’s hands, he muttered, “More.”

Derek didn’t make a sound, but Stiles felt his stomach tighten with laughter. “Where would you like me to touch you?”

“Everywhere.”

“Then be patient.”

Stiles nuzzled his cheek into Derek’s shoulder, breathing the scent of him, shampoo and soap and scotch and the earthy smell of dog. “You’re bossy,” Stiles muttered, petulant.

Derek’s hand smoothed past Stiles’s navel to massage his erection. Letting a growl into his voice, he said, “You’re needy.”

That brought a smile to Stiles’s face, thinking that he was indeed needy and that Derek would give him whatever he requested. He reached up to bury his hands in Derek’s hair and pull him down for a kiss. It was deep and rough, Derek’s hand grinding Stiles’s cock through his slacks. Stiles groaned. Derek kissed harder, silencing him.

Then Stiles’s fly was unbuttoned, unzipped, Derek’s hand rubbing him a single time through his briefs before he broke the kiss, replacing his tongue with his fingers. As Stiles sucked, he held Derek’s gaze. At the lake, he hadn’t been able to make out more than Derek’s silhouette most of the time. The desire and heat in his eyes now were enough to set Stiles’s cock throbbing painfully.

“You’re beautiful,” said Derek.

Stiles’s throat tightened. He’d been called handsome, cute, even charming, but never beautiful. It had a different ring to it.

Derek nosed through Stiles’s hair, inhaling deep and kissing the crown of his head. The fingers in Stiles’s mouth vanished, returning to his dick, working their way under his briefs. Derek pumped his hand fast, the tension in Stiles’s body ready to snap. He’d never come so fast, black spots dancing in his vision for a few seconds as he gasped for breath on his way down from orgasm.

“Fucking hell,” Stiles mumbled. “How did you do that?”

“I’ve had practice,” Derek said through the kisses he placed on Stiles’s jaw. “But we’re not done yet, baby.”

Stiles’s heart leapt at the pet name.

“Turn around for me,” Derek commanded.

Stiles shifted to face him. The hand Derek had jerked him off with was sticky with his spend, and he slid it up Stiles’s stomach, slathering cum up to his chest as he climbed on top of Stiles and kissed him. “What do you want me to do now?” Stiles could hear in Derek’s voice that he already had an idea of what he wanted, but Stiles surprised even himself.

“I-I want— Can I watch? You—?” Stiles glanced down to where Derek’s hard-on tented his jeans.

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. Then a pleased little smile wormed its way onto his mouth. “How do you want me?”

Stiles’s brain took a moment to comprehend the question because it was so unexpectedly sexy. Was this how people had sex? Sex with Lydia had never been like this. “Um. On your-on your back?”

Derek complied, lacing his hands behind his head and looking up at Stiles through half-lidded eyes. He was enjoying Stiles’s obvious inexperience just a little too much. “Clothes?”

“Shirt off.”

The flannel spilled onto the floor.

For a long moment, Stiles stared at Derek’s bare chest. He’d seen it and more at the lake, but in bed like this, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths, he looked—beautiful. Stiles wished he could bring himself to say it aloud. One day.

“Stiles.” Oops. He’d been staring too long. “Can I touch myself now?”

Stiles almost fainted. “Yes.” He propped himself on his hands, one leg tucked under the other, relishing the view as Derek’s hand popped the button of his jeans. Eyes hungry and impatient, Stiles reached to help him edge his boxers and jeans down his thighs.

At the lake, it had been too dark for Stiles to see Derek’s cock, seeing instead with his hands. Now, as it curved, swollen and leaking over his belly, Stiles could appreciate the sight. His own dick started hardening again. That had to be a record refractory period for him.

Derek began stroking himself, slow, savoring. He watched Stiles watching him, and the dark heat in his eyes, the openly lustful part of his lips almost made Stiles move to touch him. But he didn’t. Part of him wanted to suffer the torture of seeing Derek’s lewd body begin to writhe under his own ministrations without adding his own hands to the equation.

As he neared orgasm, Derek’s hips bucked off the bed, the veins in his arms, hands, neck, cock all plump with the rush of blood. Derek’s free hand grasped blindly, finding Stiles’s thigh and squeezing.

“Stiles,” he choked. “Shit. I can’t—”

The command sprang to Stiles’s mind. Would it be too salacious, too vulgar? He didn’t care. “Come.”

Derek’s body bowed off the bed, white spraying his belly and chest, a guttural groan forcing its way from his throat. He collapsed in a shuddering heap.

Stiles took the hand now limp on his thigh and brought it to his lips. He kissed Derek’s palm, licked and sucked each finger. “Did you like that?” he asked. Derek hummed approval. He didn’t even open his eyes, letting Stiles play with his fingers as he caught his breath. Smirking to himself, Stiles leaned, planting his hands on the bed to either side of Derek’s head. Now Derek did open his eyes. Stiles kissed him, quick and chaste, then murmured in his ear, “We’re not done yet, baby.”

Dark amusement filled Derek’s expression. “No, we aren’t.”

Derek flipped Stiles onto his back, kicking his trousers the rest of the way off and straddling him fully naked. “Tell me if at any point you want to stop,” he said.

Voice having suddenly abandoned him, Stiles nodded. Derek gave him a wolfish grin, pointy teeth and glinting eyes, and ripped Stiles’s shirt open, buttons sent flying. He trapped Stiles’s hands above his head. Starting at his clavicle and tracing down to his nipple, Derek grazed his teeth over Stiles’s skin while grinding against Stiles’s thigh. He was already half hard again. Healthy boy.

Stiles fought Derek’s grip on his wrists, wanting to grope, to feel every inch of Derek he could, the torment of still not touching him almost unbearable. In revenge, he worked his leg in time with the plunge of Derek’s hips. Derek broke off from biting Stiles’s nipples raw, hanging his head and moaning. Stiles laughed. As if the sound were a trigger, Derek scowled up at him and attacked with a vengeance, kissing him so roughly Stiles felt where he would have friction burn from his stubble.

Derek let out a long drawn out, “Fuuuuck,” and shifted so his cock was right next to Stiles’s. His hand clamped around them both, fingers just long enough to reach. He met Stiles’s gaze. “You all right?”

“Fuck yes, but please let me touch you.”

Derek laughed and released Stiles’s wrists. Finally free to roam, they clutched at Derek’s shoulders, his neck, yanking Derek down for a kiss. Derek started rutting, their dicks pressed together in the clasp of his hand, the rub of Derek’s cock against his a whole new sensation driving him closer and closer to coming.

“God. Derek,” grunted Stiles.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Their labored breaths mingled as Derek thrusted faster and faster. He buried his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck, his voice muffled when he gasped, “Can I—leave—a mark on you?”

That pushed Stiles to the edge, his head forced back into the mattress. He just managed to grunt, “Can’t—see.”

Derek understood. Hips grinding Stiles into the bed, he veered his mouth down to Stiles’s chest and bit and sucked hard enough to sting. Stiles came with a long keening sob, tears spilling down his temples, into his hair and onto the covers. Derek rutted against him several more times until he followed suit, groaning Stiles’s name.

They were messy with cum and sweat, but Stiles had never felt so satisfied. Derek rolled to lay beside him. The silence was comforting, just existing quietly together, two bodies and minds in sync. Stiles twisted so he lay on his belly, one arm across Derek’s chest. Derek rested a hand on his elbow. For a split second, the moment felt like it could last forever, then Stiles’s loud mind came crashing in to remind him of the outside world, of the way people would treat them if they knew. He screwed his eyes shut and crushed his face into the mattress.

“Hey,” Derek said gently.

Stiles raised his head, his mind going quiet again at the sound of Derek’s voice. “Sorry.”

Derek searched his face. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” Stiles meant it. “I’m just, you know. Scared. This doesn’t feel wrong, but…”

“Everybody else says it is.”

Stiles sighed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong and right, Stiles. I just know who I am. And I know it because I’ve fought to know it. I will never let anyone tell me who I am ever again.”

Stiles caressed Derek’s cheek. “You are pretty amazing, Mr. Superman.”

“Well, this Superman is going to go grab a wet towel to clean up this mess that we are.”

Stiles flushed. “Oh. Sorry. I just rubbed my stomach all over your covers…”

“It’s fine. Laundry day is soon anyway. It can come a little early.”

“Look at you, Mr. Responsible Superman,” Stiles called as Derek went out into the hall. He studied the muscles in Derek’s ass as he walked. Damn if all that farming didn’t give the man a perfect ass.

Derek reentered and wiped down them both with a warm, wet cloth. At the bruise forming on Stiles’s chest, he was tender, almost apologetic. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah.”

Derek winced.

“It’s okay.” Stiles feathered his fingertips over the purpling skin. “I-I kind of like it.”

The corners of Derek’s mouth twitched. Once he finished, he hung the cloth on the hamper then hesitated. “Do you want to sleep in the guest bed?”

Stiles blinked. “Oh.”

“You’re welcome to…” Derek gestured to his bed.

“With you?”

“If that’s what you want.”

In answer, Stiles shed his slacks and underwear the rest of the way and snuggled under the covers. Derek grinned and shook his head, hands on his hips.

* * *

They slept through the night and well into the morning, bodies curved together, two halves completing a whole. Stiles’s watch on the bedside table woke him, but the smell of bacon and eggs cleared his head. He dressed in his rumpled clothes from the night before, shirt hanging open since the buttons were now littered all over the room, then found his way to the kitchen where Derek had laid out a spread of bacon, eggs, fresh blackberries, and bread and butter.

Derek kissed him good morning, tasting of blackberries. Couldn’t Stiles skip class for the day? Stay in this kitchen, the two of them eating berries and other things off inappropriate surfaces…

But Derek had responsibilities too. “I can’t eat with you,” he said. “Farm won’t care for itself, and I’m already getting a late start.”

Stiles bowed his head. “That’s my fault, isn’t it?”

Derek wiggled his eyebrows. “You can make me late any time.” He did a double take at Stiles’s ruined shirt, his brows drawing together. “Sorry about that. You can borrow one of mine. I called Malia to come give you a ride back to campus.” Then he patted Stiles’s shoulder and was out the door with Sniper at his heels.

After a bite of eggs, Stiles froze. “Wait. Malia?” he said to the empty room. So now Malia knew. Shit. That was fine, right? She was gay. She would certainly keep the secret, but what would she think they had done? Because they hadn’t done—well. They had done plenty, but they hadn’t exactly had full-on sex. Would Malia assume Stiles was gay now? His brain spewed worry after worry until the screen door creaked open and he’d barely started on his breakfast.

He stuffed several forkfuls into his mouth as Malia strolled in. She greeted him, and he waved, muted by his food. “Mm, Derek makes the best bacon,” she said, snatching a slice from the pan. “You almost ready to go? I can drop you at your dorm so you can change clothes.”

Stiles swallowed painfully and said, “Okay. Thanks.”

“Why do you look like you’re going to throw up? You’re not, are you?”

“N-no.”

“Good. My dad would murder me if you hurled in his car. Hurry up. I have a lecture in an hour.”

At his dorm, Stiles sped up the stairs, feeling like everybody could tell where he’d been, what he’d been doing, that the oversized shirt he wore belonged to the man he’d been doing those things with. Once in his room, he sagged against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. “Everything is fine. You’re fine. Nobody—Gah!” He almost toppled over as the door launched him forward.

Scott poked his head around the door, eyebrows knitted together “Where were you?” he asked. “You never came in last night. I thought you got murdered or something.”

“Oh.” Stiles tried to straighten his clothes and smooth down his hair. “I was—I got—”

“Is that a new shirt? It’s kind of big on you.” Scott edged into the room and closed the door behind him, the gears turning in his head. Stiles spluttered, but the light came on in Scott’s face before he could come up with a more believable lie than “I got lost.”

A smile lit Scott’s face. “You got laid.”

“What?” Stiles attempted a nonchalant shrug. He didn’t think it worked.

“Who is she? Why didn’t you tell me about her? It’s not Malia, is it?”

“No! Jesus, no.”

“So who is it?”

“Uh, who is who?”

Scott shook his head. “Don’t hold out on me. What? Are you embarrassed? Is she a real skag or something?”

“Psh, what? No, no,” Stiles mumbled, digging in his drawers for fresh clothes. “She’s-she’s a real looker. Yeah. She’s, uh, real nice.”

Scott propped a forearm on Stiles’s dresser. “Why’re you keeping her secret then?”

“We’re not really dating. It’s—casual.”

Scott’s mouth fell open. “Wow.”

Stiles finally managed to shove his legs into new pants, his arms into a new shirt—that belonged to _him_ —and comb his hair into something more or less decent. “Yeah,” he said, composing himself. “Okay. I’ll tell you all about it later, buddy. I have to get to class.”

Outside, he was able to breathe again. Despite his tardiness, he meandered on his way to class, letting his heartrate decelerate to normal. Scott’s attack of questions had almost felt targeted. _She_ , he’d kept saying. The word weighed like a stone in his stomach. And Stiles had lied. Well, half lied. He’d told the truth when he’d described Derek as a looker and nice, but he’d used that word. She.

The worst part was Stiles found himself _wanting_ to tell Scott about Derek. He wanted to brag about him, joke about the private things they’d done, rave about his cooking. Scott was an amazing friend, but this wasn’t something he would accept easily, if at all. Stiles could not lose his best friend.

The easiest thing to do would be to cut ties with Derek, revert their relationship to the platonic, jovial nature it had started with. That thought made Stiles’s chest ache.

He was so distracted he didn’t notice everybody stare at him when he banged noisily into the lecture hall halfway through. His thoughts grew into a cacophony of voices so loud he barely heard a word the professor spoke.

Afterward, Stiles sped toward the student commons and claimed a pay phone in the corner.

“Sheriff Stilinski speaking.”

Stiles closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the pay phone’s box. “Hey, dad.”

“Hey, kiddo. How’s it going? It’s the middle of the day, don’t you have class?”

“I have a little time in between.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear from you. How’re you doing?”

“I’m—” Terrible? Confused? Breaking down? “Fine. How are you? You being careful about your heart?”

“Oh, don’t start with that. I’m an adult, son, I don’t need you nannying me.”

“Yeah, well, an adult can decide to eat burgers and fries for every meal instead of vegetables.”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, did you need something? I’d love to talk, but I’m a little busy.”

“Right, no, I just got a little homesick, I guess.”

Dad laughed. “Stiles you haven’t even moved out of town. You can come visit home any time you want.”

“I know. I will soon.”

“Love you, son.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Stiles hung up, turned, and yelped, “Annie!” He flailed, knocking the phone so it dangled from its wire. “Holy smokes, Annie, you go sneaking up on people like that a lot?” He glanced behind her, spotting the great whale of a man dressed in a dark gray suit drifting nearby who couldn’t have looked more like her bodyguard.

“Hi,” chirped Annie. “Stiles, right? Talking to your father?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Isn’t that sweet. You know,” Annie crowded closer, cornering Stiles, “I saw you yesterday.”

Stiles’s blood iced. For the briefest of seconds, he thought she’d somehow spied on him and Derek through the drawn curtains.

“By the library. With Derek.”

“Oh.”

“You know, I care about you,” said Annie, not at all sounding like she cared about him. “I feel responsible for you. You were one of my orientation freshies, after all, so I feel I ought to give you some advice.” Her manicured hands came up and straightened Stiles’s collar. “Derek Hale? He isn’t somebody a nice, wholesome guy like you should be spending time with.”

“Ex-excuse me?”

“Derek’s got a lot of problems. Luckily, I know how to help him. But you shouldn’t go getting mixed up in all that, nice boy like you.”

“I don’t know what you—”

Annie placed a finger to his lips. Her perfume smelled sickly sweet like maraschino cherries. “Just count yourself lucky I told you before you got in too deep with him.”

Then she flounced away, ringlets bouncing, with her bodyguard right behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much experience writing smut...or plain old love stories either for that matter lol, but I hope it passed! Maybe like a B-? Thanks for reading!!


	3. Decide to Be Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ramping up into some big feels--good and bad!! Thank you so much to everybody who has been reading and commenting on updates!! I live for your kind words, friends. <3

Maybe Annie was right. It was best for them both if they stopped seeing each other. So many things could go wrong. Secrets never stayed secret.

Stiles tromped up and down the stairs of his dorm building so many times he lost count, striding toward the phone to call Derek then pivoting on his heel and heading right back to the third floor. On one trip back up, Scott caught up with him.

“You up for roller-skating with the girls tonight?” Scott asked, clapping his shoulder. “Malia is coming.”

Stiles started to decline but realized roller-skating might get his mind off things for a minute. “Sounds great.”

It worked at first. Stiles even enjoyed himself, teaching Malia to skate since she hadn’t been in years. She was wobbly and graceless and so very Malia. Once she got the hang of it, they skated around and around, Stiles swerving and spinning beside her just to make her nervous. Scott and Allison never stopped holding hands. Lydia was her usual perfect self, performing complicated maneuvers flawlessly without breaking a sweat.

“This is actually kind of fun,” Malia said as if she were surprised.

“Really? It’s meant to be torture,” Stiles joked. She slapped his arm, almost losing her balance in the process. Stiles steadied her with a laugh. Without thinking, he remarked, “You should bring Kira here some time.”

“What?” Malia stared at him, blushing.

“Oh. Well, Derek introduced me to her, and he said you were friends.”

Malia glared at the floor. “He did?”

“Yeah.” And now he was thinking about Derek again.

They circled the rink once in silence then Malia said, “I want to take a break.”

Stiles helped her roll stiffly to the gate and untied her skates for her so she wouldn’t tumble attempting it herself. They sat and watched Lydia dancing to the Chordettes chiming “Lollipop, lollipop, oh lolli lolli lolli lollipop.” She was still gorgeous as ever. Stiles remembered why he’d fallen for her in high school. Always the best at everything she did. Except relationships. She was so good at so many things sometimes she forgot to just be Lydia.

“Do you love him?” asked Malia.

That word. Did he? Could he?

“I don’t know,” Stiles said honestly. “Do you love her?”

“I don’t know.”

Stiles nodded. That was where they were at then.

After roller-skating, the girls wanted to explore the strip on Main Street where shops sold special candies and clothes and music from bars spilled out onto the sidewalk. Beacon Hills’s version of night life.

They were passing a fine dining establishment when Stiles recognized a face in the window. Derek was clad in a coat, white button-down, and slacks. Stiles had never seen him look so proper. Then he spotted who sat across from him. Annie had donned a glittery blue dress that showed just too much cleavage to be modest and pinned up her hair with a red ribbon. She was actually quite pretty, but there was something cruel, almost gloating in her smile. Derek looked ready to stab himself in the eye with his fork when he sighted Stiles.

“Oh no,” Malia grumbled, following Stiles’s look of shock. “I hate her.”

“Annie? Yeah, she’s not exactly likable. What is Derek doing with her— Shit. He’s coming out here.”

“Who?” Scott asked, walking up with one arm slung over Allison’s shoulders.

“Derek,” Malia answered just as Derek exited the restaurant.

When he saw Scott, Allison, and Lydia catching up he hesitated, disconcerted. He glanced from them to Stiles and Malia. “Hey, guys,” he said.

“Hey, Derek,” said Scott. He introduced Lydia and Allison. An awkward silence ensued, and Malia flew forward to hug Derek and fill it.

Derek smiled, patting her back. He opened his mouth to say something, but Annie cut him off, stomping out onto the sidewalk. “Derek? What’s going on out here?” She pretended cluelessness, but Stiles could read the irritation in her posture. They had interrupted something.

“Miss Lancaster,” Derek sighed, “these are some friends of mine. You met Scott and Stiles. These are their friends, Allison and Lydia. You already know my cousin, Malia. I saw them through the window and wanted to come say hi.”

“We don’t want to interrupt your dinner,” Allison said. “Looks romantic.”

“It was,” Annie said sweetly but pointedly, her words poison-coated candy.

“What are you kids up to tonight?” Derek asked, ignoring the daggers Annie glared at him.

“We just got done at the skating rink. Thought we would go for a stroll down the strip,” Lydia said. Her gazed darted between Annie and Derek, fitting the puzzle pieces together because she never missed anything. She probably knew more about what was going on between Derek and Annie than Stiles did by now. “You two should join us.” She cast the words out like they were weightless, but the excitement in Derek’s eyes and the annoyance in Annie’s suggested otherwise.

Annie opened her mouth, clearly to refuse, but Derek jumped in. “Sure. This place’s cooking blows anyway.”

“Nothing compared to yours, I’m sure,” Stiles blurted without thinking. He really needed to get better at filtering his words. Nobody seemed to think anything of it, though Annie narrowed her eyes at him.

“Miss Lancaster?” said a giant man crossing the street, the same man who had accompanied Annie before. He was tall and built like a linebacker, but his face looked like a lost puppy. “Would you like me to bring up the car?”

“No, Ryan. We’ll be walking.” Annie spoke as if the very words insulted her. “Follow behind us, though, so I can send you back to retrieve the car when we’re ready to leave.”

“Don’t make him do that,” Derek muttered.

Annie crossed her arms. “Will you be carrying me all the way back in your big strong farmer arms, then? Because I am not walking around all night and getting blisters from these heels.”

Derek held up his hands in surrender.

“Let’s go then,” Lydia said and strutted off down the pavement.

Annie looped her arm through Derek’s after he paid the bill. He let her, but his shoulders tensed. Malia kept shooting Annie murderous glances. Stiles was stuck in the middle, stamping down feelings of envy that Annie could put her hands all over Derek so carefreely in public. Scott was too busy buying Allison a caramel apple or a pretty charm bracelet from this store or that to notice the intense atmosphere. Lydia led the pack, oblivious to the misery she’d wrought upon Stiles. Annie shivered conspicuously several times, even going so far as to comment about the chill, but if Derek noticed, he didn’t care. Ryan wordlessly offered his coat, but Annie all but hissed at him. Finally, she outright asked Derek for his jacket. He handed it over, his features blank. Stiles bit his lip to keep from smirking in satisfaction that he’d just given Annie the jacket and hadn’t draped it over her shoulders himself. Small victories.

Was he just using her for appearances again? Why? Because he and Stiles were—well, not quite nothing?

Or was Annie using Derek? What could she be getting out of this farce?

By the time Lydia led them all into a quaint diner with tiled floors, red vinyl seats, and a rainbow-lit jukebox, Stiles had a headache from trying to figure out what was going on. The eight of them couldn’t all fit in one booth so they dispersed out across two: Derek, Annie, and Malia in one, Stiles, Lydia, Scott, and Allison in another. Ryan separated himself from the group, taking up residence near the door like a faithful guard dog.

From his vantage point, Stiles could catch Derek’s eye, but every time he did, Annie seemed to demand his attention. Stiles didn’t have much of an appetite, though the others ordered baskets of fries and sodas and milkshakes to share. Beside him, Lydia sipped on a Pepsi, studying Derek and Annie. She caught Stiles looking at her. “What?”

“What?” Stiles shot back.

“Don’t do that, Stiles.”

“Do what?”

“Be you.”

“Ouch.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “We’re not dating anymore. We don’t have to do this whole circular talking thing.”

“Okay.” Stiles bent closer to her, lowering his voice. “Why are you staring at Annie and Derek?”

“Because they’re interesting. They obviously hate each other so I’m curious why they’re pretending to date.”

“Me too.”

Lydia flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I know you are.”

Stiles chuckled and said, not unkindly, “I forgot. You know everything.”

“Not everything. I don’t know what their deal is. Yet.”

“You’ll sniff it out. That bloodhound nose of yours never failed you before.” Stiles snagged her soda and took a gulp. They’d shared drinks more times than he could count when they’d dated. Lydia didn’t bat an eye.

“You know,” said Lydia, “I think I missed you. I don’t miss dating you. But I missed being your friend.”

“How uncharacteristically nice of you, Lydia.”

“It’s weird seeing you guys get along,” Scott interjected.

Allison shoved his chest gently. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not! They used to argue all the time, even after they started going steady.”

“Just proves we’re better as friends,” said Lydia, snatching back her Pepsi and sipping. If anybody could make drinking from a straw sassy, it was Lydia.

“Friends.” Stiles mimed clinking a glass to hers. She gave him a real smile—a rare thing, a real Lydia smile. He still loved them. He still loved her, but not in an I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you way.

Love.

That word again.

As if playing a word association game, Stiles’s eyes sought Derek. He was watching Stiles but glanced away when their gazes met. They kept stealing glances over Scott’s shoulder. Stiles even made a face when he heard Annie talking about James Dean, and Derek had to cough to cover his laugh.

When Lydia sent Stiles to change the song on the jukebox, he didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that Derek followed soon after. He stretched his shoulders, acting like he just needed to get up and move around. Stiles smirked down at the jukebox.

Derek propped an elbow on the juke and muttered, “I’ll explain later. I’m sorry about all this.”

“Exes, huh?” Stiles said, but his tone was light. “I don’t know what you’re doing with Annie, but you don’t have to explain to me, Derek. I’m not—we aren’t— Anyway, you’re not accountable to me.”

“I know. But I need you to know. With Miss Lancaster—I don’t want this.”

“What, is she forcing you?” Stiles said with a laugh. When Derek didn’t say anything, Stiles looked up, a chill running down his spine at the regretful expression he wore. “Wait, really? What—”

“What’s taking you two so long?” Annie asked, suddenly behind Stiles. Her tone was cheery but held a slight edge. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. Derek, I’m tired so let’s leave when I get back. I’ve already sent Ryan for the car.”

“Okay, Miss Lancaster,” said Derek flatly.

Annie lingered, her eyes flitting between them before going on her way.

Stiles snapped his attention back to Derek, hissing, “She’s forcing you? How? Why?”

“Later,” Derek whispered then sauntered back to the others, joking loudly about Stiles fumbling with the jukebox.

When Annie and Derek announced they were leaving, the others followed suit. Stiles hated using public restrooms, but he hadn’t peed since before the skating rink so he told Scott and the others he’d catch up with them.

As he finished at the urinal, the door swung open, admitting Derek. Stiles washed his hands as he remarked, “This doesn’t look suspicious at all, you coming back here.”

“Lydia said she needed to use the ladies’ room. I couldn’t leave a lady unescorted. And Annie left my jacket in the booth.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “I saw her hand you that jacket as you were leaving.”

Derek shrugged. “Maybe I’m careless. Maybe I wanted to steal a kiss.”

Stiles ducked his head, shushing him. “You don’t know if we’re alone in here.”

Derek nodded toward the stalls. “They’re all empty. Come here.” He took Stiles’s wrist and whisked him into a stall, the lock clicking as he latched it. He backed Stiles up and lifted under his thighs to sit him on the toilet’s tank. “In case somebody comes in. They won’t see your feet,” he murmured into Stiles’s clavicle.

“Derek,” Stiles hissed. “They’re waiting on us.”

“Just…” Derek kissed him hard, cushioning his skull from the tiled wall with one hand, smoothing the other up his chest.

They parted, gasping, lips red, eyes bright.

“Think they’ll notice?” Stiles panted.

Derek grinned. “To hell with them if they do.” He unlocked the stall and went to splash water on his face.

“Wait—” Stiles blinked. “No, we should definitely care if they notice.”

Derek laughed as he exited. Stiles tossed up his hands in exasperation. What was he supposed to do with that dumbass? Feeling like an idiot, Stiles waited several minutes, wondering if it looked more or less suspicious if they came out of the bathroom too far apart. He shook his head. He was overthinking it.

As soon as he stepped out, Lydia was waiting for him, her arms crossed. “Stomach problems?”

“Huh? Oh. No. I just—I’m fine. You ready?”

Lydia’s gaze scanned over him. He bit his lips, hoping to disguise the reason for their redness. If she noticed anything, she didn’t acknowledge it. When they joined the others outside, Ryan was already helping Annie into the back seat of a silver Bentley that had to have cost more than Stiles’s dad had made in his entire life.

Derek hugged Malia then Stiles, breathing so low into his ear only he could hear, “Think of me tonight, and I’ll think of you.” The air in Stiles’s lungs evaporated. Derek shook Scott’s hand and kissed Allison and Lydia on the cheek. Then he was gone, stealing rest of the air in the world with him.

Stiles couldn’t masturbate with Scott lying just feet away in his bed so he headed to the showers. Derek’s words had made the walk home uncomfortable to say the least.

The communal showers were grimy, but Stiles had played lacrosse with Scott in high school so he was used to it. Thankfully, this late at night, they were empty. One hand stabilizing himself on the wall, Stiles let the water flood over him, steam rising. His other hand clasped his cock. This time, he knew what Derek’s touch felt like. He knew exactly how Derek’s thumb would glide over his slit, how he would circle his cock to get that sensation of grinding.

Derek’s voice echoed in his head.

_Think of me tonight, and I’ll think of you._

Was Derek stroking himself right now? Stiles remembered the way he’d looked, displayed on his back, thrusting into his own hand.

The pleasure began to build in Stiles’s groin. His hips moved of their own volition. He imagined Derek shunted behind him in the shower cubicle, seizing Stile by the hips. Stiles bent forward, longing for the pressure of Derek’s body. He wanted Derek’s cock to grind against his ass, glide, slick and hard, between his cheeks, grazing his asshole—fuck, he wanted Derek to fuck him.

Mind consumed with sensations, Stiles ventured the hand not on his dick around to his ass, testing, teasing. He crushed his forehead to the wall and hissed as he gently nudged one fingertip inside. It left him feeling strange and tingly.

As his hand worked his cock, his hips undulating uncontrollably, his ass began to loosen. He moved his finger experimentally. The feeling was different but not bad.

His breath grew ragged, and he caught himself groaning, retaining just enough wherewithal to bite his lip to muffle his noises. The orgasm came almost reluctantly, like his body knew it was missing the specific sensation of Derek’s skin on his. Slipping his finger out, Stiles suddenly felt cold. He inched back so his face was under the shower’s spray and ratcheted up the heat. What was he becoming? What was Derek changing him into? Or had he always been this person?

* * *

“Scotch and Cola?” asked Kira. Shadows had taken root under her eyes, and her hair had lost some of its luster, but she gave Derek and Stiles a genuine smile.

“Thanks,” said Derek, frowning “Are you all right?”

She shrugged. “Mr. Lancaster has been pressuring Mom to sell a lot lately. He’s getting pretty aggressive, and it’s making Mom tense which makes the whole house tense.”

Derek scowled. “That asshole needs to find another town to buy out.”

“What he needs is to grow a heart,” Kira sighed.

Derek took her hand and squeezed it. “Tell your mom to be careful, okay? Lancaster is dangerous.”

Once Kira left to get their drinks, Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek. “Lancaster? As in Annie Lancaster?”

Derek nodded. “That’s actually what I was going to tell you about. Remember the trap we found Elvis in?”

“Yeah. Your psycho neighbor sets traps on your property because he’s a petty coward.”

“Right. Well, August Lancaster is that psycho neighbor. He’s been buying up pieces of the town for years, raising surrounding land values so rent prices skyrocket and he can drive smaller businesses bankrupt and buy them out. Then he puts in his own chain businesses and rakes in money he didn’t work for. My land is one of the big chunks he’s been trying to get his hands on for the last few years—thank you,” he said to Kira as she set down their drinks then whisked away. “Those traps are his way of trying to either scare me off so I don’t end up hurting myself, or trying to get me sued because my property is a minefield.”

“Wait. What does this have to do with Annie forcing you to pretend to date her?”

“That’s where the blackmail comes in. See,” Derek swiveled his scotch glass, “most of the people who know about my… _deviance_ are people I want to have the knowledge. Two people have it without my permission. Annie and I broke up in high school because she caught me with the lacrosse team captain. She was too embarrassed to out me, but she told her dad, and he probably only kept the secret this long because he thought he could use it someday. Their offer is to marry Annie so Lancaster can get control of my land and make me their company figurehead, since the town actually likes me, or they publicly out me.”

“Shit. That’s,” Stiles sat back, “fucking evil.” He swallowed, hesitant to ask, but he had to know. “She’s not— I mean— You said she’s forcing you— You don’t mean… Right?”

Derek reeled back. “No! Fuck no. Oh. God. Now that’s in my brain.”

“Sorry. Just couldn’t stop worrying about it.”

“No, Annie doesn’t want really want to marry or have any kind of relationship with me. I think she’s going along with her dad’s scheme because it gets her more status and money. Plus, I think she’d prefer a husband she can control, and I am not that.”

Stiles grimaced. “Ugh, now the idea of her controlling you is in _my_ head.”

Laughing, Derek said, “Payback. Up until recently, their threats have been empty. I knew Annie wouldn’t risk the embarrassment of people learning she’d dated a gay man, and if Lancaster outed me, he would lose his only leverage.”

“What changed?”

Derek lifted his gaze from his scotch. There was a sad tilt to his eyebrows.

“Oh. Me.”

Derek sighed. “Annie figured us out pretty quick. She’s smarter than she seems. I never confirmed their suspicions, but they’re threatening to out you if I don’t cooperate with their plan. So. I’m sorry for—”

“Stop. Just shut up.” Stiles wanted to kiss him and punch him and hug him all at once. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve been protecting me.”

“You’re only in danger because of me.”

“If it hadn’t been you, it would’ve been somebody else eventually,” said Stiles.

“Somehow I hate that idea.”

Stiles chuckled, twiddling his bottle in thought. “You know, the other day, Annie warned me about befriending you.”

Derek frowned. “She did?”

“Yeah. She played it like she was doing it for my sake, trying to save me from associating with-with—well, you know. But she was definitely lying. I just can’t figure out why she would want me to stay away from you if her dad wants to use our relationship against you. Keeping us apart would be counterproductive. And I don’t think she’s really jealous. Even when we were all out last night, she seemed annoyed and territorial but not jealous.”

“Maybe she was trying to make sure we didn’t get found out and make her look foolish. That’s how she thinks.” Derek shook his head and downed his scotch. He sighed, staring at the empty glass. “Maybe… Maybe it’s for the best if we stop.”

The thought had occurred to Stiles, but his rebellious streak rose up now. “No. Derek, they already know about me. And if they aren’t threatening me, they’ll threaten the next guy. What are you going to do, never have a relationship? This is extortion, and it’s illegal. We can fight this.”

Derek looked up at him through his lashes, smiling. “We?”

“Yeah. We.”

“I like the sound of that.” Derek glanced around the bar and lowered his voice. “So. How was your night? Think about anything interesting?”

Stiles covered his mouth and, through his fingers, said, “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Just a bit.”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“I am.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re going to think of me again tonight, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles said, waving a hand dismissively. “I didn’t have a single immodest thought last night.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “Who said anything about immodest?”

Stiles kicked him under the table, making him jump and laugh.

“You boys having fun?” A woman who looked remarkably like an older Kira stood over them, her arms crossed. “Perhaps a little too much?”

Derek cleared his throat. “Sorry, Noshiko.”

“Keep it down. Just because you’re my favorite customer doesn’t mean I won’t kick you out on your ass, got it?” She ruffled Derek’s hair, slapping his cheek a measure too hard. “Now. How about I join you for a round and we talk about this Lancaster business.”

* * *

October rushed to a close, and with it came the Fall Festival. Scott and Stiles made plans to go with the girls—including Kira who Stiles invited because he was a devious matchmaker. He was also looking forward to seeing Derek for the first time since their meeting at the Toadstool over a week ago. Who knew autumn was such a busy time for college students _and_ farmers?

Derek had entered the pumpkin contest alongside some other local farmers so he’d have an excuse to go to the festival without Annie hanging off his arm the whole time. She had made it her mission to ruin Stiles’s academic career—at least in the chemistry department. She docked him for points on things like misdating assignments. Scott urged him to report her, but he knew if he did it would only make things worse on Derek. He could put up with the injustice. It wasn’t like he was studying to be a chemist.

The festival set up in Hollow Tree Park downtown. Malia was supposed to meet them at the pond, but after an hour, Stiles and Derek started to worry.

“Maybe her car broke down? It’s old as anything anyway.” Kira suggested, biting her nails and sounding more like she was trying to convince herself it was something as innocuous as car trouble.

“Maybe,” Derek mumbled. “I’m going to drive out to her house, see if I run into her on the way.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Kira and Stiles at the same time.

“We’ll all go,” Scott offered. Scott, Allison, and Lydia piled into his cruiser, Derek, Stiles, and Kira in Derek’s truck.

“You don’t think—I mean, Peter wouldn’t—” Kira said as Derek tore out of the park.

“Peter isn’t the type to get physical, but he’s always keeping her on a short leash. He’s probably in one of his moods and told her she had to stay home,” Derek ground out through gritted teeth.

They drove in silence. When Stiles saw blood welling up around Kira’s fingernail where her teeth had worried at the cuticles, he dug out a napkin from Derek’s glove compartment and squashed it to her finger. She gave him a shy smile.

“Goddammit,” spat Derek.

Stiles followed his gaze outside, overtop the trees, where a black plume gushed into the sky. The memories flashed so visibly across Derek’s face Stiles could almost relive them with him. He hadn’t told Stiles much about the fire that had nearly wiped out his entire family, but he didn’t need to know much to understand. Kira clutched his arm.

Sure enough, they raced down a dirt drive toward a house, once white, now black and gray and orange with soot and smoke and fire. The windows were blown out from the heat, flames licking up the siding like desperate arms of people trying to escape the blaze.

A man met them as they skidded to a stop. Derek and Stiles rocketed out of the truck, careening toward the house.

“Where the fuck is she, Peter?” Derek roared at the man.

“Derek, don’t! The house is empty,” said Peter, physically blocking Derek and Stiles from going closer to the inferno. He was surprisingly strong despite the bruises and cuts all over his face and arms. “Malia’s fine, she ran to the neighbor’s to ring the police. It’s okay. She’s fine.” Derek blinked at him, comprehending the words. Then his head sank in relief, and Peter hugged him, one palm at the back of his head. Stiles couldn’t help the spark of surprise that Derek let himself be held like that, especially since he didn’t seem to like Peter much.

Scott came up behind Stiles, placing a hand on his shoulder. They exchanged an uncertain look.

Allison marched forward, her brow creased in concentration. “Is there a well nearby? A source of water we can use to control the fire until the fire department gets here?”

Peter narrowed his eyes, seeming to realize for the first time there were a bunch of strange college kids on his property. “Who are you?”

Derek straightened, wiping his face. “Friends of mine.”

Peter looked them all up and down, pausing on Kira. “Even the Jap?”

Derek’s fingers curled into fists. “Shut the hell up or answer Allison’s question, Peter.”

The look they exchanged was heated enough to start another fire. Finally, Peter said, “We have a water pump and hose, but the pump’s been broken for weeks. We’ll just have to wait. You kids should stay back.”

Even as he spoke, sirens wailed, lights flashed through the trees. Malia returned just as the police and firetruck arrived. Stiles and the others swarmed her with hugs, Derek holding onto her for a long time, his face buried in her hair. Stiles thought he heard him muttering things to her but didn’t want to eavesdrop.

“Hey, Stiles,” said Scott. “Isn’t that your dad’s car?”

Stiles whirled. His dad’s black and white cruiser with the gold star on the side was parked beside Derek’s truck. A familiar brown leather jacket was on a man waving his arms in the air, shouting orders at the deputies scrambling about.

Stiles sprinted over to his dad. When Dad spotted Stiles, a myriad of emotions flickered over his face. “Stiles! What the hell—were you in that house?”

“No, no, Dad. I’m fine. We drove up to check on our friend. The house was on fire when we got here.”

“You’re okay? You’re sure?” His dad looked him over, checking his shoulders and sides like a pat down.

“Yeah, yeah, Dad.”

“This is your friend’s house?”

“Malia’s.” Stiles pointed to where Derek was still crushing Malia in his arms.

“Peter’s kid?”

“Yeah— Wait, you know Peter?”

“I know all the Hales.”

That’s right. His dad had been a deputy when the Hale housefire had happened. He’d been part of the first responder team that got called out. His dad knew all the Hales. He knew Derek. Stiles’s heart suddenly wanted to vacate his ribcage.

“Can you let them know I’ll be with them once we get this situation under control?” said Dad before moving off to coordinate with his officers and the firemen spraying down the house.

Derek and Malia sat in the back of the ambulance. One of the EMTs draped a shock blanket around them then went to examine Peter’s cuts and bruises. Derek’s arm was around Malia’s shoulders, but his face was dry and composed again. He waited curiously as Stiles approached.

Stiles jammed a thumb over his shoulder. “My dad. He’s going to come talk with us when they get the fire under control.”

Derek paled. “Your dad is the Sheriff?” Then he smacked his forehead with one hand. “Stilinski. Sheriff Stilinski. I knew I’d heard the name before.” Stiles almost wanted to apologize for blindsiding him with this information, but he was surrounded by a bunch of people who had no idea about their relationship.

Malia took Stiles’s hand. She looked at him, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Kira. “Thanks for coming.” Her voice broke, and Stiles’s heart broke with it. She sounded so sincerely grateful like this was far more than she’d expected. It probably was.

They all stumbled over themselves, doting on Malia, raving about how glad they were she was safe. The startled smile on her face was worth the commotion.

Half an hour later, the fire was just about dead, and Sheriff Stilinski approached. He talked to Peter first. Stiles trained his ears on their voices.

Clearly, Peter wanted to be heard though. “Let me tell you what happened, Stilinski, what happened is my damned nephew can’t handle his own business so his rivals come lighting up my house.”

“Lancaster did this?” Derek asked, rising to his feet.

“Do you have any proof?” the sheriff asked.

Peter gestured to the remains of his house. “Isn’t that enough? Or maybe my spilled blood will be enough? This isn’t red paint, Stilinski. I didn’t get beat up by a fire.”

“Somebody attacked you?”

“No, I decided to do a little boxing practice with a bobcat—yes, they attacked me!”

“Peter, calm down,” said Derek.

“That’s all right, son,” said the sheriff. “Peter, let’s talk over here.” They moved out of earshot.

Stiles inched a little too far into Derek’s personal space and hissed, “Lancaster is setting houses on _fire_ now?”

Derek rubbed a hand over his face. “Guess he’s losing patience.”

By the time the emergency vehicles started dispersing it was well into the night. Stiles’s dad was the last to leave. He offered Stiles a ride back to campus, but Stiles wasn’t done here and said he’d ride back with Scott. They all watched Dad’s rear lights blink between the trees.

Then Peter punched Derek in the jaw.

“Dad!” Malia screamed, bolting to support Derek. Stiles trembled with the effort of keeping his feet where they were.

“You need to handle your fucking shit, Derek,” Peter shouted. “I let you slide with that faggy shit, but now that shit’s starting to stink and it’s fouling up my life. Lancaster came after me and my daughter to get at you. Just marry his damn daughter so I don’t end up losing her too.” His voice broke toward the end, but he recovered his rage. “I want you the fuck out of my life, out of my daughter’s life. You can fuck every queer in town, I don’t care, just stay the hell away—”

“Dad, shut up!”

Peter glowered at them all before stalking away to kick at the rubble that had been his home.

Stiles felt like he’d been skinned, every muscle, artery, nerve exposed and vulnerable and sensitive. Blood trickling from his mouth, Derek stared after Peter, defeated.

“Um,” Scott mumbled. “Stiles, we-we should go.”

“Stiles.” Malia’s face was pleading.

What the hell was he supposed to do? Derek wasn’t moving. Stiles wasn’t sure he even cared that he’d just been outed to their friends. His expression was closed off, eyes far away.

“Stiles?” Scott said. Their eyes met. Scott gave him that naïve shake of the head, brows drawn together.

“Yeah, uh,” Stiles looked back at Derek, “you guys go ahead. I’m—going to stay.”

Scott’s face scrunched even further with confusion. “Stiles, he’s a—”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, gaze still fixed on Derek. “I know.”

“I don’t—why?”

“Scott—” Stiles’s voice choked off, but he forced the words out, finally looking at his best friend. “I’m queer.” He’d said it. The words sounded as if they’d come from somebody else’s mouth, but they were his words. They felt so light. He felt light.

Scott’s mouth opened and closed, a fish drowning in air. Allison tapped his arm and whispered in his ear. She shot Stiles an uncertain look and led Scott back to his car. Stiles turned to Lydia. There was warmth in her eyes. She took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “I know,” she said.

Somehow, Stiles wasn’t surprised. “How?”

“The diner. I smelled him on you when you came out of the restroom.”

“Right.” He looked over her shoulder to Allison waiting by the driver’s side of Scott’s car. She’d packed him into the passenger seat. He didn’t look in any state to drive. “You should go with them. Thanks, Lydia.”

“I’m happy for you,” she said as she released his hand and went to join Scott and Allison.


	4. Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many smutty times ahead. :D This week's chapter is early because I will be out of town visiting friends this weekend so, even though I'll have wifi and my laptop, I wanted to make sure I got this up on time. Plus, who doesn't love an early update? ^.^ Only a couple more updates left!! The final two chapters will be uploaded together since the seventh "chapter" is a short epilogue. Anyway, hope you enjoy!!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Big homophobia and some descriptions of physical violence ahead (sorry if that's spoilery, but I'd rather people be safe and aware than caught off-guard)

Stiles drove, Derek’s truck grumbling along the rough country roads. Derek was in no better shape than Scott had been, sitting silent and unmoving beside Stiles. The truck only sat three so Kira was perched stiffly in Malia’s lap. Malia had managed to climb into the truck with them before Peter noticed.

Everyone was painfully silent.

Stiles kept himself from coming unspun by repeating a mantra in his head of “They need you, they need you, they need you.” Malia had lost her home and semi-run away. Derek had been sucker punched and disowned by his uncle while reliving what was undoubtedly his worst memory. And Kira was being forced to awkwardly sit in her crush’s lap. They needed him.

All the same, he was grateful when Derek rested a hand on his knee. Not suggestively, not to tease him, just a comforting contact they both could use.

At the farmhouse, Kira called her parents, explaining what had happened and that she would be staying the night with Malia. Her mother was no fool though. She got directions from Derek—after a long, somber conversation—and headed over to pick up her daughter.

The four of them sat in the living room, waiting. Sniper, sensing the mood, placed her muzzle on Derek’s knee. After a few minutes he went to look after Elvis, and Stiles, try as he might, couldn’t stop himself from following. He sat on the bed, chin propped on his knees, while Derek tidied Elvis’s cage and laid fresh food and water. He was patient when Elvis chittered at him in warning, his hands gentle as he cared for this animal that could choose to rip off his fingers but, for whatever reason, didn’t.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, and it took Stiles a second to realize he wasn’t talking to the fox.

“Me? I should be asking you that.”

“You just told your best friend that you’re queer. That qualifies you to be not okay.”

“I guess so.” He _was_ oddly calm about it. “I trust Scott. I trust that he won’t tell anyone, anyway. I know him that well, at least. Allison… I think I trust her too. But if she does tell people, at least it won’t have come from Scott.”

Derek chuckled. “You’re more worried about being betrayed by your friend than being persecuted by society.”

“What can I say? I’m a deep guy.”

“Yeah,” Derek peered up at him, “you are.”

Stiles tenderly touched the bruise staining the side of Derek’s mouth. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course.”

“I can sleep in the guest bed or something since Malia is here.”

Derek shrugged. “She won’t care. But I don’t think I’m up for any ‘fun’ tonight.”

Stiles ran his fingers through Derek’s hair. “I know. Me neither.”

Kira’s mom arrived half an hour later. Malia hugged Kira tight then went straight to bed, sniffling. Derek lent Stiles a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt that were both a size too big for him, but he cinched the drawstring of the sweats as tight as it would go and they fit well enough. Derek took a shower before coming to bed so Stiles was already warm under the covers by the time he strolled in, shirtless, in plaid pajama bottoms and a brown robe. His hair still glistened.

Stiles lay facing away from Derek’s side of the bed, Sniper tucked against his belly, so he heard rather than saw Derek shed his robe and click off the lamp, felt the bed dip as he lay down. His arm, warm and strong, looped around Stiles’s chest, fitting him against his body.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered into the nape of Stiles’s neck.

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.” They lay there for a long time, Derek’s breathing growing deeper. “Derek?” No response. Half of Stiles was happy, half disappointed. He didn’t even know what he would to say to him if he had answered. Maybe he just wanted to hear his voice. He settled for letting the rhythm of Derek’s breath on his neck lull him into a deep slumber.

Stiles woke when Derek disentangled himself from Stiles’s arms. It was still dark, dim moonlight filtering through a gap in the curtains. Sniper jostled the bed as she jumped down to the floor to follow Derek.

“What time is it?” Stiles mumbled.

“Shh. Go back to sleep,” Derek said, kissing his head.

But Stiles seized a fistful of Derek’s pajama bottoms. “Where are you going?”

“I have a farm to tend, Peaches. Get some more rest.” With a gentle hand, he dislodged Stiles’s hold on him, gathered some clothes from his closet, and left the room.

Stiles let his head sink back into the pillows, but with his arm now stretched across Derek’s empty side of the bed and Sniper’s warmth missing, he couldn’t ignore their absence. Cursing farmers and their ungodly hours, Stiles flung the covers off and groped for the lamp on the nightstand.

On an impulse, he snatched up Derek’s robe from its hook on the door and wrapped himself in it. As soon as he opened the front door, he was glad for it. A chill raised goosebumps up and down his skin, and his toes shied away from the cold wood as he stepped out barefoot. A flashlight lay on the edge of the porch, angled to illuminate Derek’s truck, the driver’s side door open. Stiles crept to the corner of the porch, propping his elbows on the peeling white rail. From this angle he could see Derek’s butt, pert and round in his jeans, as he bent to rummage in his truck.

Stiles whistled appreciatively, and Derek started. There was a dull thwack and a muffled “Fuck!” Stiles winced. Derek straightened, rubbing the back of his head. “Stiles?”

“Hey… Sorry…”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Getting a show, for a minute there.”

“Oh yeah?” Derek strutted up to the porch where Stiles stood and hoisted himself up so he perched on the thin ledge on the wrong side of the railing. He leaned into Stiles’s space. Stiles didn’t move, challenging him with a tiny smirk. Derek’s breath was warm and freshly minty. Stiles wished he’d thought to brush his teeth before coming out here, but Derek didn’t seem to mind as he kissed him, sucking and biting his lip, thrusting gently against his tongue, the dourness of the night before so far away from this quiet, isolated morning. “You’re very distracting. It’s making it difficult to do my job.”

“Mm,” Stiles hummed into his mouth, “distracting you is becoming my favorite hobby.”

“I really have to go. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd will think I’m slacking.”

“What if I come with you? I can help.”

Derek tilted his head. “Help with farm work?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? It’ll mean getting dirty. And you don’t have any proper work clothes so you’ll have to borrow mine, and we already know they won’t fit.”

“I have a belt,” said Stiles, giving Derek a dark look.

“Well, you’ve got the dirty part down.”

“If I help you, I get to spend more time with you. Plus, if it means you might get done sooner, that means you get back here sooner, and if you get back here sooner, we can do the _things_ that we do here sooner…”

Derek smiled in surprise. “You _really_ have the dirty part down. Okay. Go change, Peaches.” He slapped Stiles ass when he turned to go.

“You sure you don’t want to help?” Stiles asked.

“Fucking hell, Stiles,” Derek laughed with a shake of his head.

Stiles got ready in a matter of minutes and they were on their way. He was tempted to ask Derek if he could drive so Derek could occupy his attention with Stiles’s dick, but that was probably asking a bit much. Plus, he didn’t trust himself not to wreck while Derek was blowing him.

By the time they reached the barn, the horizon was just beginning to gray. As it turned out, Derek farmed more than fruit, cultivating vegetables and raising chickens in a small coop with pigs in a pen nearby.

“Where do you think those eggs and bacon came from the other day?” Derek said when Stiles gaped.

Stiles stared at the cute, fat pigs with their coiled tails and crooked ears and considered never eating meat again. Or at least bacon.

Derek introduced Stiles to Boyd, a stoic man with dark skin who looked like he could crush Stiles’s skull with two fingers, Isaac, the complete opposite, pale, lean, curly hair, and delicate cheekbones, and Erica, a blond girl gruff enough to rival Malia. At first, Stiles felt like more of a burden than a help. He had no idea how to work any of the machines or handle the animals, and he couldn’t lift nearly as much as even Erica, but Derek was patient with him. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were nice enough, if a little quiet. When Stiles finally got all of them laughing during lunch—sandwiches Malia brought—he felt like he’d earned a badge of approval.

Toward the end of the day, a light rain started. Isaac rolled the tractor in from the field so it wouldn’t get stuck in the mud. They sheltered in the barn, hoping it would let up soon, but when the drizzle grew into a hard downpour, Derek sent the others home early.

Stiles was sweaty and worn out, but he found himself nursing a stab of disappointment. Maybe not at first, but eventually he’d felt useful, purposeful. Using his hands and physical strength to do something productive was—surprise, surprise—fulfilling. He wouldn’t want to do it every day. No. But maybe he understood Derek a little better now.

Surveying the rain spatter in the mud from the wide barn doorway, Stiles didn’t hear Derek sneak up behind him. He circled his arms around Stiles’s waist.

“You did great today,” he said.

“Oh, I know. But you guys could really pick it up, you know, I feel like I’m carrying all four of you.”

Derek bit Stiles’s neck and growled in reply.

“I thought I was the dirty one,” said Stiles.

“I wouldn’t mind a jumpstart. Unless you’d rather get cleaned up first. But we’ll have to wait until later tonight. Malia is still at the house.”

Stiles turned, linking his arms around Derek’s neck. “Wait? Pff. No.”

Derek grinned that dark, pointy-toothed grin and backed Stiles into the wall. The barn creaked, rain pounding the metal roof. Their shirts were off in record time. Stiles had waited weeks for this, since jerking off in the shower. The memory sent a jolt to his dick.

“Derek?” The word was barely audible, mumbled into Derek’s chest as he kissed the light smattering of hair there.

“What?”

“Play with my asshole.”

Derek froze and backed up slightly. “Are you sure?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“You’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be Mr. Experienced, can we?”

“I’ll stop if you don’t like it. Just tell me.”

Stiles tugged him in for another kiss to quell Derek’s doubts, and maybe to hide his own nervousness as well. His fingers buried in Derek’s hair. He yanked gently, the snarl Derek gave in response making his cock twitch. Derek kissed down Stiles’s chest, past his navel. He dragged Stiles’s pants and briefs down. Stiles was half hard, growing with every second.

Suddenly extremely gentle, Derek lifted one of Stiles’s legs over his shoulder, licking up his inner thigh, kissing, biting. Stiles sagged against the wall, letting Derek bear some of his weight because his one leg still standing was already quivering.

Derek took Stiles’s cock in his mouth. His tongue was soft and hot and wet, and fuck, Stiles had missed this. A hand slithered up his propped leg, around to his ass, squeezing one cheek then the other. Derek removed his mouth and sucked his middle and ring fingers. Stiles groaned at the sight of Derek gazing up at him, fingers slick in his mouth, lust in his eyes.

Then those fingers were at Stiles’s hole. Derek stroked the sensitive skin, prodding slightly, kneading him open. Stiles clamped his hands to either side of Derek’s head, forcing him to look up to meet his gaze. He wanted to be looking into those eyes for this. To be here with him.

Derek lazily worked Stiles’s dick, now leaking precum, and pressed firmer against Stiles’s asshole. One fingertip entered. Stiles gasped. It felt mostly the same as in the shower, but Derek’s fingers were a new experience, their movements unpredictable.

Derek sucked Stiles’s cock deep into his throat again, still keeping eye contact with slow, sensual motions.

A second finger. There was a faint burning pain, but it faded as Derek gradually pushed in further, scissoring his fingers wider. Stiles had to fight to keep eye contact now, but he willed himself to stay focused. He combed a hand through Derek’s hair. It was damp from sweat and rain, and Stiles tugged a fistful again to get Derek’s groan around his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Stiles hissed. “It’s so good, Derek, fuck.” His hips undulated, the leg on Derek’s shoulder drawing him closer, urging his mouth deeper onto his cock, his fingers deeper into his ass. “Oh, Jesus. I’m going to come, Derek.” Derek quickened his pace, fingers fucking into him, tongue swirling and flicking, building him closer and closer until his body spasmed. Stiles came down Derek’s throat, still looking into his eyes. His leg gave out. Derek supported his weight, removing his fingers but still sucking him through the lightning bolts of pleasure until it was too much and Stiles whimpered.

Derek let Stiles sink safely to the ground. Stiles had been too focused on staring into his eyes, but now he saw that Derek had been jerking himself off, his glistening cock hanging eagerly out of his boxers.

“Let me catch my breath. Then it’s your turn,” said Stiles.

Derek shifted to sit beside him, wiping a dribble of cum from the corner of his mouth then licking it off his hand. It had to be the most lurid, most endearing, sexiest thing Stiles had ever seen. Stiles reached down to pull loosely at Derek’s cock.

“You’re feisty today, Peaches,” said Derek.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Stiles said, swinging onto his knees and ducking down to lick the length of Derek’s dick. He tasted salty and sweeter than expected.

Derek sucked in a breath. “Stiles!”

“I want to. Is it—is it okay?”

Derek gave a disbelieving chuckle. “It’s more than okay.”

It was an awkward angle with them both on the ground, but Stiles tried to copy Derek’s techniques, running his flattened tongue up the length then taking the head into his mouth, careful to avoid his teeth. Perhaps a smidge too eager, he edged down too far and gagged. Derek laughed softly. So, Stiles couldn’t swallow him to the hilt. He would make up for it with enthusiasm, and judging by the noises coming from Derek, it was working.

“That’s it, baby,” Derek groaned. “Swirl your tongue. Fuck yes.”

The encouragement stirred Stiles’s dick, but he focused on getting Derek off. A gentle hand buried itself in Stiles’s hair. Although Derek’s hands were tender where Stiles’s were usually aggressive, Stiles could see why it made Derek groan. He tried humming on Derek’s cock, rewarded with a sudden twitch on his tongue.

Stiles surfaced to catch his breath, substituting in his hand and exploiting the opportunity to look at Derek’s face. His eyes were closed, brows drawn together, jaw clenched like he was concentrating. Stiles kissed him, hard and brief, before bowing back to his work.

Derek’s hand in his hair remained light, petting, massaging even as tension built in his body. Stiles removed his mouth and hands, letting Derek’s high descend slightly. Then he flicked his tongue over Derek’s slit. A choked cry forced its way out of Derek’s lungs, once, twice, three times, the sound more and more desperate with each tease of Stiles’s tongue.

“Stiles,” Derek grunted through gritted teeth. “Can I come in your mouth?”

In answer, Stiles sucked him down as far as he could, his eyes watering as he fought not to gag. Derek’s hips canted upward, his hand forcing Stiles’s head down further.

“I love you.”

Cum flooded the back of Stiles’s mouth, and he coughed, struggling to swallow so he didn’t suffocate, but he didn’t pull back even after Derek collapsed back to the ground. Stiles reciprocated the favor from earlier, bobbing up and down Derek’s over-sensitive cock until he sucked a breath through his teeth.

Stiles sat back on his heels, soaking in the sight of a spent Derek, his body slumped against the wall, limp dick resting on his stomach. Had he realized what he’d said? Was it a heat of the moment slip or…

“You don’t have to say it back,” Derek said, his gaze soft and sure and genuine as he met Stiles’s. “I just need you to know.”

Stiles nodded. Did he want to say it back? Would it be the truth? Those were rich words, but Derek was treating them like pocket change.

Derek laughed and sat forward to curve a hand around the side of Stiles’s neck, flattening his hand down over the hollow of his collarbone. “Don’t blow a gasket. Maybe wasn’t the best time to lob that at you, but when would be? Nothing has to change for now. Don’t feel guilty.”

Stiles stared at him in silence, thoughts moving so quickly he couldn’t even comprehend them much less communicate them.

Derek sighed though he still smiled. “Come on.” He stood and handed Stiles his underwear and pants, helping him to his feet. They dressed and raced through the rain to clamber into the truck. The drive was quiet except for the patter of rain.

A shudder crawled up Stiles’s spine as they drove up to the house and spotted a swanky silver Jaguar squatting in the front like an attack dog. Sniper shot out of the doggy door, her barks getting drowned in the drone of the rain. Derek patted her absently, his attention on the house.

Inside, Malia stood, arms crossed, glaring from Derek to a suave man on the sofa. He wore a tailored blue suit with a white pocket square, and his smile was as greasy as his hair. Sniper posted guard in front of Malia, scrutinizing the stranger.

“Good afternoon, Hale,” the stranger said.

“August.” Derek’s tone was thinly veiled hatred. “Come to give me the pleasure of ignoring your threats to your face?”

So, this was August Lancaster. His face was extremely punchable.

“Actually,” said Lancaster, rising to his feet, “I’m here for my own pleasure. You see, since you so keenly wish to keep your land, I thought I might do you a favor and free you of an unnecessary commitment.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed.

A miniscule tilt worked its way onto Lancaster’s lips, and Stiles balled his hands into fists. So punchable. Lancaster produced a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket, handing it to Derek. “Seeing as it was my money that paid off the dean, I thought it prudent to deliver your pink slip in person. Without that pesky job on the campus, you’ll have plenty of time to spend on your beloved farm with your dear family.” He glanced at Malia, his words growing heavy.

Derek’s jaw was a hard-set line.

“And it’ll mean you keep your…filthier habits,” Lancaster gave Stiles a meaningful once over, “away from the impressionable minds our youths. You and your ilk are a disease upon this society, after all. Best you keep to your own kind so the sickness doesn’t permeate.” Lancaster stepped between Derek and Stiles as if to leave but paused and captured Stiles’s chin, tilting his head to the side. “A bit feminine for you, isn’t he, Hale?”

In the blink of an eye, Derek wrenched Lancaster’s hand away from Stiles. “Don’t touch him.” The hair on Stiles’s arms raised at the danger in Derek’s voice.

Lancaster smirked and picked up the umbrella he’d propped by the door. “So long then, old friend. Enjoy your farm.”

Once the Jaguar rumbled off into the rain, Stiles and Malia rushed Derek. Malia ripped open the envelope, eyes scanning the page before she roared, crumpling the paper and pitching it to the floor.

Stiles retrieved it. “God,” he muttered as he read.

Derek stood, unmoving, stiff as a statue. Stiles guided him to the couch and sat beside him. Malia drooped onto the back of the sofa, facing away from them, though Stiles could imagine her expression.

“There has to be something we can do,” Stiles insisted. “I can call my dad. A dean accepting bribes to fire someone—”

Derek interrupted him. He sounded tired. “We have no proof, Stiles. I’m sure your dad would want to help, but there’s nothing he can do legally.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I should call Cora. Let her know—I don’t know. Maybe we can scrape together enough to get you girls through the end of the year.” He stood and went to the kitchen to make the call.

Stiles looked at Malia, still facing away from him. She had finally made friends. She was doing great in her classes. This was bullshit.

“What about scholarships?” Stiles asked. “Or Peter? Can’t he help pay?”

“I already work a job at the stupid department store to support _him_ ,” spat Malia. “All his money just went up in flames. And I’m not gifted enough in anything to get a scholarship. I already tried.”

“Maybe—”

“Stiles, I know you want to help, but please, just stop.” Malia didn’t give him a chance to apologize before stomping off to Cora’s room, Sniper at her heels.

That night, Stiles dreaded going back to school the next day. Scott, classes, homework, that all seemed worlds away even though it had only been two days. He lay in bed with Derek, absently drawing patterns on his back, trying to puzzle out an answer, a fix, for the situation, even if it was duct taped together out of toothpicks and scrap metal. That was what he did. He solved the puzzles. There had to be a solution to this one too.

“You asleep?” Stiles whispered.

“No.”

“Derek. Whatever you need. I’m here.”

Derek was quiet for a long moment. “Thank you.”

Stiles lifted himself to kiss Derek’s shoulder and rest his chin there. “You can’t sleep, can you?”

Derek twisted to face him and muttered teasingly, “Not with you talking.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Derek sighed and cupped Stiles’s cheek. When he spoke again, his voice was fragile and vulnerable, and Stiles’s chest ached. “Distract me?”

Stiles smiled. “I’ve been told I’m very good at that.”

Stiles wasn’t used to this uncertain Derek who needed reassurance and a caring hand, but this Derek needed him, and Stiles would be there for him. That gave him the confidence to take the lead, kissing Derek’s body, coddling him, giving and giving and giving back everything Derek had given him over the past months.

* * *

Scott kept his distance. He still partnered with Stiles in classes and acted friendly, but there was this wall between them now. Scott would stay out overnight with Allison more often. The first night back on campus, Stiles cried in bed in the dark, his back to Scott because he couldn’t stand the closed-off smile Scott have given him when he’d entered their dorm.

Scott hated him. Derek loved him. He was so confused. He couldn’t even keep his own feelings straight. Pun intended.

Lydia stopped by just to see him, the first time she’d visited to specifically see him since they’d all started hanging out again. She would pop by to eat lunch with Stiles or swing by the dorm on her way home after meeting with Allison. They never talked about Derek or Scott or any of that. Lydia would just babble about how stupid her professors were and about the new skirt from some fashion line Stiles had never heard of. He couldn’t have been more grateful.

Malia continued attending classes, but she always looked even less happy about it than she had before. Stiles got the distinct impression that she hated the university now for taking the bribe to fire Derek. She was the grudging type.

“Any luck finding another job?” Stiles asked Derek over the phone one Friday evening. “I bet Noshiko would let you tend bar.”

“She already has bartenders, and I can’t ask her to hire one who is completely untrained when she doesn’t even need another. I think Lancaster has been blacklisting me all over town. Everywhere I go I get this look like they’re afraid to even be talking to me.”

“Maybe I can talk to my dad. I know the academy takes over a year, but maybe they can use another file clerk or something?”

Derek chuckled softly. “You really want me working in close proximity with your dad?”

Stiles scratched his head. “Yeah, maybe not.” He sighed, resting his forehead against the wall, lowering his voice so the other students in the lobby wouldn’t hear. “Hey, um, about the other day.”

Derek was silent, letting Stiles string together the words.

“I wanted to say it. You know? But I-I want it to be real. I want to be sure. To mean it.” Stiles let out a long breath, feeling like he’d just bench-pressed a walrus.

“I want that too, Stiles,” Derek murmured, his voice like a caress. Stiles closed his eyes as he continued, “Don’t ever feel pressured to say it if you don’t want to. It’s okay to be confused. I’m not going anywhere. I can wait while you figure it out. And if you never say it and we go our separate ways someday, that’s okay too.” Stiles’s gut clenched at that idea. The thought of not having Derek to talk to, to kiss and embrace, of never getting to know him wholly and completely. What a terrible thought.

But a different, colder, more logical side of Stiles’s brain kept butting in asking questions about the future and what exactly they could be together. Who would Stiles lose if he chose Derek? His dad? Scott? They would never be able to be open about who they were. Could they even live together, passing as roommates?

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and banged his head into the wall. “We’ll figure out something.” He wasn’t sure if he was talking about his feelings or Derek’s financial situation.

“We will,” said Derek. “I have to go. Malia says to punch Scott for her, but I think maybe nix the punching for—ow!” He laughed. “She says punch him right now or she’ll keep hitting me.”

Stiles smiled. “Can she hit him for me? I don’t know if he’ll even sleep in his own bed tonight. He’s been sneaking into Allison’s dorm most nights.”

“He’ll come around. If he were going to shut you out completely, he would have done it already. He just needs time.”

“If you say so.”

“Keep your chin up, Peaches. I’ll kiss it for you soon.”

“I didn’t know you were such a cheeseball.”

The smile came through in Derek’s voice. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

“‘Night.”

After hanging up, Stiles headed to the dining hall for dinner. Normally, he would go with Scott or Malia if she stayed on campus long enough, but he was solo tonight.

It was late enough in the year now that the sun bid goodnight at five o’clock. The lamps lighting the paths on campus flickered on. Out of habit, Stiles cut between the Moore Building and the Hudson Auditorium, but as he neared the corner, he spotted a stocky guy dressed in nondescript clothing, a black cap shadowing his face. He dropped his cigarette and snuffed it under his heel as Stiles neared.

“Hey, kid,” he said.

Stiles slowed uncertainly. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened, and he glanced behind him. Two more men, one with a baseball bat slung over his shoulder, blocked the path back. Stiles edged toward the side entrance to the auditorium.

“Where you going, fag?” sneered the man.

Stiles’s stomach lurched into his throat. He ran. Heavy footfalls followed close behind. The auditorium was mercilessly dark and empty. If he could just get to the exit on the far side—

A weight smashed into his back from behind, and he barely saved his head from smacking the floor. The man who’d tackled him rolled him onto his back and straddled his chest. He tried to cry out for help, but a sharp blow to his jaw left him dazed.

“Fucking cocksucker,” the man said, his hands closing around Stiles’s throat. “You want to scream, go ahead.”

Stiles’s pulse pounded in his head. His mouth gaped for air. Just before he blacked out, the pressure released, a desperate breath flooding his lungs, and he coughed. The weight on his chest lifted. Rough hands lifted Stiles to his feet. All three men surrounded him now as he tottered on weak legs. One punched him in the stomach, sending him sprawling on the ground again, gasping.

“Can’t fucking fight, can you, little pansy?”

A boot slammed into Stiles’s jaw. Blood. Stiles tried to choke words around the pain in his throat and the blood in his mouth and the dazed muddle of his thoughts, but all that came out was a gurgle.

“Don’t worry,” said one man, yanking up Stiles’s head by his hair. “We’re not going to kill you. Just want you to bring a little message to your friend, Derek Hale.”

“You think he’s smart enough to get it or does he need a little more teaching?”

“I think we better spell it out for him.”

The metallic snick of a blade. They pinned Stiles on his stomach, his screams smothered into the floor and body helpless, as they carved into his back.

* * *

They found him the next morning. That’s what he was told. Some poor group of students arriving early for their lecture walked in to find Stiles looking quite dead on the floor, lying in a smear of his own blood.

His hospital room looked like a banquet, flower arrangements and baskets of homemade food piled on every surface. Tears blurred Stiles’s vision when he saw Scott passed out in the chair beside his bed. Outside his room, his dad’s voice spoke with an edge. He sounded angry and scared, and knowing that he had made his dad feel that way hurt worse than the wounds covering Stiles’s body.

Dad entered, eyes bloodshot and lines around his mouth. Stiles tried for a smile, but even that small movement hurt.

“Hey, kid,” said Dad, rushing to his bedside.

Scott roused at the sound. “Stiles.”

Stiles tried to speak, but only a faint whistle escaped his throat.

“Don’t try to talk for now,” Dad said. “They said your vocal cords are inflamed from the—so-so you won’t be able to speak for a day or two.”

Well, that was the second worst news Stiles had ever gotten. Words were his only weapon.

“They brought this in for you.” Scott handed him a notepad and pencil.

Stiles snatched it and scribbled furiously.

“‘Lancaster?’” Dad read disbelievingly. “As in August Lancaster, the real estate guy? Are you-are you saying he did this?”

Stiles nodded.

“Son, you have a concussion, I think—”

Stiles waved his hands fervently, wincing because everything hurt. He wrote, _Sent men to attack me. Trying to threaten Derek._

Scott paled in the corner of Stiles’s eye.

“Derek Hale? He’s trying to threaten Derek Hale by sending men to beat you?” Dad asked.

_Yes._

“How is hurting you a threat to Hale?”

Stiles hesitated, glancing at Scott. _Derek and Malia are my friends._

Dad smoothed a hand over Stiles’s hair, his brow creased with concern. “Okay, kiddo. We’ll work this out when you’ve had some time to rest and heal up, okay? I’ve got my guys out there hunting down the punks who did this. I’ve got to go coordinate with them, but if you need anything, I’ll be right outside.” He swept out like he was eager to find somewhere to direct his energy. He needed to fix this for Stiles, and his way was catching the bad guys.

Alone now, Stiles and Scott locked eyes then looked away.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I’ve been kind of a dick.” Scott said, gaze cast down. “I’m glad you’re okay. Well, not okay, but—you know what I mean.”

Stiles scribbled, _Glad you’re here._

Scott gave him a classic puppy-dog Scott smile. “I went out of my mind when I saw you. I was having breakfast with Allison and Lydia on the green, and we saw everybody crowding around the auditorium. We got there, and I saw them loading you in the ambulance… I just climbed in without even thinking. You looked so…” He sniffled and looked down at his lap.

Stiles placed a tentative hand on Scott’s. Scott covered it with his other hand, squeezing.

With his free hand, the left one, Stiles wrote a wobbly, _Look that bad?_ He’d meant it half-jokingly, but Scott pursed his lips. _Want to see_.

Scott went to ask one of the nurses if they had a mirror. He brought a pocket mirror, grim-faced as he reluctantly handed it to Stiles. He’d certainly looked better. One eye was almost swollen shut and had blood pooling in the white, the surrounding skin a blackish purple. His lip and jaw were swollen, a boot sole-shaped bruise dappling the skin. Angry purple lines roped his neck, the imprints of fingers visible.

“You have some bone bruises on your ribs and-and a, um—some cuts. On your back.”

Stiles stared at him. _What?_

“Nothing.”

_Bad liar._

“Shut up.”

_Happened to me. Deserve to know._

Scott swallowed and blinked, not meeting Stiles’s eyes. “They cut a word in your back. It-it—” His jaw worked, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Fag. They wrote ‘fag’ in your fucking skin.”

A brand.

Somehow Stiles knew this was coming but was still shocked. He lay back and stared at the ceiling.

“Your dad didn’t see it. I asked Mom to make sure it was covered up.”

_Derek?_

“Lydia has Derek’s number since Malia is staying there now so I called and let them know. They’re both okay. They should be here soon, but they’re only allowing family in here right now. Mom let me in.”

_Thank you._

“Yeah. I don’t—” He frowned. “I don’t know how I feel about— _that_ yet. But I know you’re my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Scott sat and talked with him until Stiles’s eyes grew heavy. He fell asleep to the sound of his best friend’s voice, and when he woke up Scott was still there, staring absently at a textbook. Stiles waved him down and tapped his wrist questioningly.

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

_D and M?_

“They stopped by.” He pointed to a stuffed fox with a red ribbon on one of the cabinets. “Derek bought that from the gift shop for you. I think he wanted to stay even if he couldn’t see you, but Malia convinced him it would look suspicious.”

Stiles smiled.

“Stiles, do you-do you—like him? I mean—really like him?”

Great, now Scott was adding to the confusion. _Don’t know._

“Okay. I think I would be okay if you did. You’re still you. Even if you—” He blushed and waved a vague hand. Stiles laughed, which hurt because his ribs and throat were bruised and his back had been ripped open. Scott was still adjusting, but this was progress. Hell, Stiles was still adjusting. Part of him was glad he had somebody to share in that now.

Stiles tried to resist asking when he could have visitors, but when Scott’s mom, Ms. McCall, came in to deliver dinner, he caved. Twenty-four hours. He just had to wait until tomorrow.

His dad checked in periodically, bringing his pillow from the dorm, a portable chess set, updating him on the manhunt for his attackers. Scott played a couple games of chess with him—Stiles won each time—before he was kicked out at the end of visiting hours.

Ms. McCall made sure he was as comfortable as possible, considering, and brought him an extra cookie. She even spared him some embarrassment by letting a different nurse help him to the bathroom. He pissed blood. Always a lovely sight. Apparently, it was a side effect of being hit in the stomach with a baseball bat.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing men in dark clothes in the shadows, and every time he closed his eyes, his heart raced, making the monitors panic and creating a feedback loop of anxiety, so he kept his eyes open. When sunlight finally filtered through the blinds, he let his eyes shut. The men followed him into his dreams, but they didn’t attack him this time. Now he was viewing from above as they tore down Derek, rending his flesh, tearing his limbs apart. Stiles woke with a start. Dad was there. He held Stiles’s hand.

“Nightmare?” Dad asked.

Stiles nodded.

“I’ve got you, son.”

Stiles blinked back tears.

“Would some visitors cheer you up?”

Stiles nodded vigorously.

Dad left, letting Malia, Lydia, and Derek in. Something in Stiles cracked at the grimace on Derek’s face. There was so much there: guilt, pain, sorrow, regret, fury, worry.

“Derek,” Stiles rasped, barely a whisper.

Derek swiped a hand over his face, tears pooling in his eyes. “I’m so sor—” His voice failed.

Malia side-hugged him before contorting her legs up in the chair Scott usually took. Lydia perched on the side of Stiles’s bed, gently wrapping his fingers in hers. Derek hung back. Stiles’s whole body ached anew.

“I’m going to murder Lancaster,” Malia growled. She sounded deadly serious, intention fully formed in her voice.

“I’ll help,” Lydia remarked, casually homicidal. “I know how to get rid of a body with no traces.”

Stiles smiled at them affectionately, but all he really wanted was for Derek to come closer, to hold his hand or touch his face or just anything. But Derek stayed several feet from the foot of the bed, not facing Stiles or meeting his eye.

“Don’t feel guilty,” Stiles croaked.

Derek shut his eyes, covering his mouth with one hand.

“Isn’t your fault,” Stiles tried again.

“Yes, it is,” Derek whispered into his hand.

“Shut up and listen. Don’t appropriate Lancaster’s responsibility for him being an asshole.”

“I made you a target.”

“Lancaster made me a target. Now stop making me argue with you. My throat already hurts enough.” Derek shook his head and smiled. “Come here.”

Finally, Derek sat at the foot of the bed. He wasn’t in physical contact with Stiles, but it would have to do for now.

After the silence stretched, Malia said, “Your dad is really nice. Stressed. But nice. He said he was happy you have more friends than just Scott now.”

“Malia,” Derek chided.

She scowled. “What?”

Stiles started a painful laughing fit because it was just so Malia, and he loved it. Soon enough they all joined him, the tension seeping out of the room. Lydia laid out the chessboard, and they played a game while Derek and Malia watched and chatted about the Toadstool and all the questions people were raising about the campus’s security after Stiles’s attack. Lydia won. She always won.

With a meaningful look at Stiles and Derek, Lydia announced she was going to the ladies’ room and invited Malia along. At first, Malia refused, but then she comprehended Lydia’s expression.

Alone with Derek, the anxiety in the room started to build again. “Can’t wait to get out of here. Have some _fun_ ,” Stiles said, half-joking.

Derek scoffed as he packed away the chess pieces. “You won’t be having any _fun_ for a while yet. You’ve still got a lot of healing left to do.”

“Okay, Dr. Derek. Oh, you know, I kind of like that.” Stiles smirked and lowered his voice. “Dr. Derek, I’ve got a _big, hard_ problem only you can take care of.”

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek hissed, nervously glancing toward the door. “You’ve got to be careful with that shit. You’re already in here because…” He gestured noncommittally.

“It’s just a joke, Derek,” Stiles said through a yawn.

Derek frowned at him. “You’re tired. I should let you get some rest.”

“No,” Stiles blurted, suddenly alert. “I mean—it’s not like I’d get much sleep anyway. I had trouble getting to sleep last night, and when I did, I had nightmares. Have a feeling it’s going to keep happening.”

“Don’t the drugs they give you make you snooze?”

“Supposed to.”

Derek shifted into the chair, scooting closer. “Want me to read you a bedtime story?” He grinned, pleased with himself.

Stiles lay back, snuggling into his favorite pillow. “Actually, that’d be nice.”

Derek blinked, adjusting to the sincerity in Stiles’s voice. “I don’t have any books on me. Maybe the giftshop—”

“Bag at the foot of my bed.”

Derek rifled through the bag of belongings Scott had brought from the dorm. He straightened, a thin book in his hands. “It looks even more well-loved than when I had it,” he said with a warm smile at the copy of _Frankenstein_ from their first trip to the cabin.

He settled back into the chair and flipped to the dog-eared page and started reading, rhythmic words in an even tone. Stiles closed his eyes. He wanted this. Forever. He wanted Derek to read him to sleep when he had nightmares. He wanted them to bicker because they both wanted to protect each other. He wanted Derek by his side.

Stiles would tell him. Soon.

* * *

“Don’t push yourself,” Scott said soothingly, supporting Stiles up the stairs. “Go slow.”

“I got beat up, I didn’t break a leg,” Stiles griped. “I’m steady enough to get up the stairs.” The croak in his voice counteracted his argument somewhat.

Scott ignored him and continued hovering around Stiles like he was going to tumble down the steps at any point. “You already have a bruised rib, don’t make it a full-on break. I still think you should’ve gone and stayed with your dad, at least for a few days. He looked kind of hurt when you told him no.”

“If I stayed with him, he’d have to change my bandages.”

“So—oh. Right.”

“Looks like I’ll have to start wearing a shirt to the pool from now on.”

Scott sighed. “Shit. It’s so fucked up.”

They reached the third floor, and when they entered their dorm, a loud cheer made Stiles glad Scott was there to support him or he would have landed on his ass. Lydia, Allison, Malia, Derek, and Kira all grinned at him, balloons bobbing along the ceiling, a welcome home banner tacked on the wall, and a lemon cake that read “TOUGH GUY” sat on Stiles’s desk.

“The balloons are a little much, guys,” Stiles joked, “but I’ll take a piece of that cake.”

They laughed and hugged and eventually everybody found somewhere to sit in the crowded little dorm. Stiles and Lydia took his bed, Scott and Allison on Scott’s, Malia tucked her legs up on Scott’s desk, and Derek rotated Stiles’s chair backward to straddle it with his arms on the backrest.

“Lydia, did you make this?” asked Stiles, gobbling down his first piece of the soft, fluffy cake. “This is amazing.”

Lydia shook her head. “Derek did, actually. I told him lemon cake is your favorite.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said to Derek, who had chosen not to eat his own cake. In fact, he looked rather ashen like he was going to be sick. “You okay?”

Derek blinked and brightened as if realizing he’d been letting his emotions show through. “I’m great.” He didn’t sound great. He fooled everybody else, but there was something off in his voice. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it with the others in earshot. Stiles could wait.

They whiled away the afternoon, talking and joking and playing card games. When dinner approached, Scott and Allison offered for them all to go to the dining hall together. Stiles said he wasn’t hungry after the cake, which was true. But mostly he wanted to stay and talk with Derek. He tried to catch his eye and communicate that to him, but Derek wasn’t looking at him. He stayed anyway, though. Scott promised to bring Stiles back some pizza.

Once they were gone, their voices fading down the hall, Derek stood and strolled to Stiles’s desk, thumbing through his English textbook, fiddling with the fountain pen his dad had given him for a graduation present.

“Will you come sit with me already?” Stiles said, his voice catching slightly, still not quite healed.

Derek crawled up beside him, back to the wall. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he said.

“Me too.” Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek’s. His hands were big and warm and rough. So familiar now. “I missed you.”

“I’ve visited you every day.”

“No, I missed _us_. Getting to be us when we’re together, without all the pretending.”

Derek sighed. “Me too. But Stiles—maybe…”

“What?”

Derek’s jaw worked and he stared at their clasped hands. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Well, I should hope so.”

Some of the seriousness left Derek’s eyes, amusement thinning the lines in his face. “I’m worried about you getting hurt again. I was thinking maybe we should stop. For now.”

Dread snared Stiles’s chest and squeezed. “I told you to stop blaming yourself. You can’t let Lancaster control—”

“I know. I know, Stiles, but what am I supposed to do?” Fear raised his pitch. “Malia’s house is gone, you got put in the hospital, he’s not going to stop, and I didn’t know what else I could do. He sent me a final warning this morning. If I don’t back down and marry Annie and hand over my land, he’ll publicly out you. Your dad would lose his job, you’d get kicked out of school. I had no choice.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “‘Had’?”

Derek shut his eyes. “I agreed.”

“You—” Stiles’s mouth hung open for a long time before he could weave together coherent thoughts. “So your solution is to just give in? What about my say in all this? It’s my livelihood he’s threatening after all.”

“Stiles…” Derek sounded so tired.

“I’m sorry, does my face look like I’m ready to give in? How about the word that man had _engraved into my skin_? Let him tell the whole fucking world I’m queer, I am not letting you marry yourself off to a woman you don’t love so that greedy bastard can go on ruling this whole town.”

“I can’t keep getting people hurt, Stiles!” Derek gritted out. “Next it’ll be the Toadstool and Kira and Noshiko. He’ll send people after Malia like he did to you.” His shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. “This has been a losing battle for a long time.”

This wasn’t happening. Not now. Not when Stiles had finally figured out his feelings for Derek. Stiles burrowed his face into Derek’s shoulder. “I don’t want this to end.”

“Me neither, Peaches.”

“Derek.”

“Yeah?”

Stiles lifted his head and looked into Derek’s eyes. “I love you, too.”

Derek’s eyes widened.

“I’m not saying it because of this. I wanted to say it back in the hospital, but I didn’t want you to think it was because I was irrational from what happened. I had planned on saying it as soon as we could really be alone together. You went and ruined it.” He smiled sadly.

Derek chuckled. “I guess I did. I love you, Peaches.”

“I love you.” Stiles snuggled closer to him, careful of his ribs and bringing their faces a hair’s breadth apart, their breaths mingling. When he spoke again, his voice was less than a whisper. “Please. Don’t do this.”

“I will never stop loving you. Lancaster can’t take that from me. God can damn me to Hell, and I’ll drag him down with me if it means I get to keep loving you.”

Sting of tears. “Please.”

“I love you, Mieczyslaw Stilinski.”

Stiles started.

“I read it off your medical chart,” explained Derek. “Had to ask your dad how to pronounce it, but I think it’s a beautiful name.”

“Ugh, I think I even like Peaches better.”

Derek smiled. “How about Mikey?”

“Horrid. Stop it.”

“Mitch? Mickey?”

“I take it all back. I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do. Kiss me.”

Derek curved one hand at the back of Stiles’s head, tilting it back. He kissed him tenderly, savoring every light touch and mindful of the split in his bottom lip. Stiles clutched Derek’s shirt, desperation clawing at his insides. “Touch me. Hold me. God, please, do everything to me.”

“We’re in your dorm. The walls are thin, and the others might come back.”

“Put a fucking sock on the door.”

“Stiles—”

“Derek, please. If-if you’re really doing this, giving in to Lancaster, then let us have this one last—” His voice broke. “One last time. If you want to. Don’t do this just for me. You have to want it too.”

“Of course I do,” Derek said, nuzzling Stiles’s cheek.

“Then hang your damn boxers on the doorknob, I don’t care, just get inside of me.”

Derek retreated, blushing all the way to his ears. With a new vigor, Derek hung his own black sock on the outside doorknob then climbed on top of Stiles.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right? Your injuries…”

“I’ll be fine. Just be gentle.”

Derek answered with a careful kiss to Stiles’s bruised eye, his scabbed lower lip, the necklace of purple at his neck. He removed Stiles’s shirt and pants and kissed every injury, every bandage, leaving Stiles’s skin tingling.

“I love you, Stiles.”

“I love you so much.”

Derek’s touch was feather light but not hesitant. By this point, he knew all of Stiles’s sensitive places. Before, he’d left marks on Stiles skin, but now he was loving and delicate. Instead of biting Stiles’s neck or ears, he lapped easy circles and placed tender kisses.

When his hand closed around Stiles’s cock, he crested off the mattress, ignoring the twinges of pain. Eager, Stiles snagged Derek’s free hand and sucked on his fingers, sliding his tongue down the v and flicking the tip over the sensitive webbing between. Sufficiently lubricated, Derek moved his fingers to Stiles’s ass and began rimming his hole. Stiles moaned as the first pushed in.

As Derek slowly worked him, he said, “I’m going to make you come first. It’ll help loosen you up.”

“Fuck, I’m already about to burst. It’s been a while.”

“Not just yet, baby.” Derek’s hand squeezed the base of his dick, and Stiles’s breath hitched, his ribs aching. The pressure hurt slightly, but the delay of gratification only made orgasm even more enticing. “Can you get on your knees for me?”

It was Stiles’s turn to blush. But he complied. The position felt so vulnerable with Derek behind him, but he felt safe _because_ it was Derek.

Fingers traced from Stiles’s nape down his spine, sending shivers all the way to his fingertips. At the base of his spine, Derek’s hand wandered to the side where tape and gauze hid the word. Derek kissed the bandage so lightly Stiles couldn’t feel.

“Does it hurt?” Derek’s voice came out husky with emotion.

Stiles swallowed. “Not as much as my ribs.”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

“I know, Derek. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Derek placed countless tender kisses to the skin surrounding the bandage until Stiles, overwhelmed, let out a frustrated growl, squirming away.

Then Derek’s hands were spreading Stiles’s ass cheeks, and something warm and wet poked at his hole. Derek’s tongue. Stiles buried his face in his pillow to stifle his groan at the realization. Derek’s mouth was on his ass, his tongue making shallow forays into him. Even though Stiles had done the heterosexual equivalent, it felt incredibly lewd having it done to him, and he almost came again if not for Derek’s diligent hand staving off his orgasm.

So many times, Stiles’s body reached that high, mere atoms away from coming only to be forced back down, though the drop grew shorter with every repetition. Finally, when Derek could pump three fingers in and out with ease, he let Stiles come.

Stiles screwed his eyes shut so hard rainbow starbursts erupted in the dark of his eyelids. He sobbed a series of swear words into his pillow, coming harder, the shuddering aftershocks lasting longer than ever before.

Spent, Stiles’s body collapsed to the mattress, ignoring the stab in his rib as he gasped to catch his breath.

“You okay?” Derek panted, kissing the nape of Stiles’s neck. He’d unbuttoned his jeans to relieve some of the restraint on his own erection, the crescent of his dick prodding Stiles’s ass through his boxers.

“I’m great,” Stiles muttered. “Fuck, Derek. I don’t know if I’ll ever come again.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” Derek’s hands drifted down to Stiles’s hips, angling them up, but Stiles lifted his head.

“Wait,” said Stiles. “Can we— Can I face you?”

“Yeah.” Derek helped him roll onto his back. Arms hooked under Stiles’s knees, Derek pulled him toward himself, resting Stiles’s hips on his thighs. Stiles’s stomach warmed with the feeling of Derek slotted between his legs. “If it hurts too much, I’ll stop. Don’t put on a brave face just because you know I want this.”

“I know.”

Derek kissed Stiles, and Stiles smoothed his hands up his arms, his shoulders, down his back with all the peaks and valleys of taut muscles. When his hand reached the rise of his ass, Stiles dug in his fingers. Derek hummed.

“I want you inside me,” Stiles breathed into Derek’s mouth.

An animal sound coming from deep in his chest, Derek kicked off his pants and boxers and slipped his leaking cock between Stiles’s ass cheeks, using his precum as lube. After a few passes, Derek reached down and rested the head of his dick against Stiles’s asshole, the ring of muscle twitching.

“Ready?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded. At first, the pressure was light, painless. Then Stiles started opening around Derek’s cock, stretching. It burned a lot more than fingers ever had.

“Breathe,” Derek instructed. “Is it too much?”

“No. I’m okay.”

Derek moved in even, shallow thrusts, gradually inching deeper and deeper into Stiles. Once the head was fully in, Stiles gasped, and from there it grew smoother. Derek kept his movements slow until he was in up to the hilt, his pelvis flush against Stiles’s. He stayed like that for a moment, surrounding Stiles in his arms, letting him adjust. Stiles felt so full. So protected.

“Can I move?” asked Derek, the strain clear in his tone.

“Yes, please,” Stiles said. Derek thrusted softly, his movements jerkily controlled. It was obvious his body wanted to go hard and rough, and Stiles finally said, “Harder,” because he wanted it too. The pain was still there, but it eased with every minute.

Derek obeyed, hips stuttering faster. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and stuffed his pillow to his face with one hand because he couldn’t contain the grunts and gasps and groans.

Sweat beaded on Derek’s arms, his breaths growing ragged. He straightened, readjusting the angle of Stiles’s hips and inserting himself, slick and hard, brushing Stiles’s prostate. A cry tore its way out of Stiles.

“You like that?” Derek panted, ramming hard and deep to that spot again.

Stiles’s reply was another choked yelp, barely muffled by his pillow. Tears seeped from his eyes, shut tight as they were. Derek stroked Stiles’s dick in time with his hips, and despite his earlier violent orgasm, he edged toward another now.

“I’m going to come,” Derek choked. “Where should I—?”

Stiles reached a hand to where Derek’s cock joined them together. “In—in me. Come in me.”

“Fuck.” Derek tilted his head back, a guttural groan working its way up his throat.

The hot feeling deep inside, the wet slick of Derek’s cock, Derek’s fist still working his dick. It was too much. Stiles arced off the bed, coming with a strangled cry and coating his stomach with a meager amount of cum.

A moment later, Derek slid out of him and curved his body around him. “Are you okay?” he asked drowsily into Stiles’s hair.

“Better than.”

Derek kissed the crown of his head. They drifted off, tangled together, but woke several times throughout the night to make love again, on Stiles’s desk, his chair, the floor, against the wall, even going so far as Stiles propping himself against Scott’s bed.

But when the dawn began to send faint, gray light through the blinds after round four, Stiles blinked heavy lids as Derek tucked him under the covers, tugged on his clothes and left, whispering, “I’ll always love you, Peaches.”

Stiles lay unmoving in his empty bed, tears dripping from the corners of his eyes as he stared at the ceiling, unable to think. All he could do was feel.

* * *

“Stiles?” Sheriff Stilinski was looking at Stiles with concern from across the couch. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

It had been three weeks since the night Derek had walked out of his dorm, out of his life. Thanksgiving was tomorrow. What the hell was there to be thankful for?

Stiles’s injuries had mostly healed, the word across his lower back now an angry pink scar, the bruises on his ribs nearly faded. Despite only wanting to spend the holiday break curled up in bed crying, Stiles had decided not coming home for Thanksgiving might make his dad suspicious. They quickly clicked back into their old routine: Dad rising early for work, Stiles whiling away the day at home, then they’d eat dinner together in front of the TV. Except where Stiles used to use his time alone at home to jerk off, read comics, and eat junk food, now he lay in bed, hardly moving. Half the time he didn’t even think to eat lunch.

He should have known Dad would catch on eventually.

Dad laid his plate on the cushion between them and shifted to look at Stiles better. “This is your favorite _Dragnet_ episode, and you’re spacing out. You love when the kid starts giving lip about marijuana. Where’s your head at these days, kid? You drift through the house like a ghost, and you look like you’ve lost weight. You feeling okay?”

His head was in the past with Derek, and he was feeling like going to sleep and never waking up sounded like a great idea so he wouldn’t have to keep waking up and remembering he couldn’t kiss or talk to Derek anymore.

What would his dad say if he blurted out any of that?

“Dad,” Stiles started, then stopped, battling between certainty and uncertainty. What did he really have left to lose? “Dad, what would you say if I told you I was queer?”

Dad blinked. Shock transitioned into confusion, his brow furrowing. His gaze shifted to the carpet, the faint stain of paint still there from where a young Stiles had spilled his craft supplies. The picture he’d painted his dad as an apology still hung on the refrigerator.

“Are you sure?” asked Dad, his tone unreadable.

“Pretty sure.”

Dad crossed his arms. “It’s not—it’s not Scott, is it?”  
  


“God, no! No. And I don’t think I’m gay—exactly. I still like women too.”

“So—so you’ll just settle down with a woman eventually.”

Stiles wobbled his head noncommittally. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Dad stood and paced. “Well, there’s just—there’s just no future with a-a man. No. You should just— Well, you’ve been spending time with Lydia again. What about her?”

“I love Lydia, but not like that anymore. She’s just a good friend now.”

Dad stopped pacing, hands on his hips, head bowed. His disappointment stance. Stiles hated seeing it, but he didn’t feel guilty right now. He wasn’t sure what he felt. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea or if he’d just made the worst mistake of his life, but he didn’t care.

“I need a beer.”

Stiles’s blood drained out of him. “Dad. Don’t.”

Dad held up a hand. The jingle of keys and the slam of the door.

When Stiles didn’t hear his dad’s car start, he crept to the window and peered out. Dad was just sitting there, gripping the steering wheel like it was the one controlling his life, and if he could just keep it steady, he could get everything back on track.

Several minutes later, he reentered the house, came back to the den, combing a hand through his hair. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, meeting Stiles’s gaze as if seeing him as an adult for the first time.

“It’s not about wanting it. I don’t really have a choice in the way I am.”

Dad sighed. “Come here.” He opened his arms.

Stiles hesitated then threw himself into his dad’s embrace, realizing just how badly he needed it. Dad’s hand fit around the back of his neck. “I love you, son. Nothing can change that. I don’t like it, this-this whatever. But I’ve always got your back.”

Stiles’s shoulders began to shake. He buried his face in his father’s jacket. When Stiles’s tremors subsided, Dad asked, “Is this why those thugs attacked you?”

“No. I mean, yes, but no. It’s complicated.”

“It always is with you, isn’t it?”

“Thank you, Dad.”

“I’ll always be here for you, Stiles.” The words sank into the air, mixing into it like sand into the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY FOR HURTING THE BABY BOIS, PHYSICALLY, EMOTIONALLY!!! IT HURTS ME TOO WAAAHHHH T_T


	5. All I've Ever Learned from Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting so close to the conclusion!!! I do have more Teen Wolf fics planned for the future, but the next fic I post is going to be a SPN Destiel fic with a slower-ish burn but still smut in there lol because smut is fun. I MAY be posting some Teen Wolf oneshots along with the Destiel fic so...if you're not into SPN (especially after what happened this week in 15x18.....BIG SIGH) you can stick around for those. 
> 
> Also...an idea I just had. If you guys maybe want some oneshots that sort of continue this story? Maybe? All just fluff and smut? 1950s Sterek family Thanksgiving lmao! Idk. Let me know. It's a possibility. I'll stop rambling now and let you enjoy. :)

Finals crept up too quickly for Stiles’s liking. His mind was on everything besides school, but Scott and Lydia helped keep him focused. Lydia somehow always had her homework and studying done with plenty of time to spare for tutoring Scott and Stiles or just sitting in their room reading while they studied.

The more time went on, the longer since Stiles had seen Derek, the more unfocused he grew. He tried taking breaks, showering, masturbating, even going for runs in the frosty weather. Nothing.

“Stiles you’ve been staring at that flashcard for the last ten minutes,” Lydia said, barely looking up from filing her nails. “I could give you five, but ten seems a little excessive.”

Stiles hung his head. “I can’t think straight.”

“Probably because you’re not.”

Scott snorted, and Stiles chucked a paperback at him.

“Okay, so, Miss Smartass, what am I supposed to do?” Stiles asked.

“Concentrate,” said Lydia.

“Ah, thank you. All of my problems have been solved.”

“You already know what you need to help you concentrate so go and get it.”

Stiles’s throat tightened. “You know I can’t.”

“Can, but won’t.”

“A most important distinction.” Stiles turned back to his flashcards, knowing full well he would continue staring mindlessly at the rectangles of paper with words on them that meant absolutely nothing to him right now. What was the point of memorizing when the different Chinese dynasties were?

“Scoot over,” Lydia snapped, dropping down from Stiles’s bed.

“What—Lydia, this is-this is my chair—”

Lydia nudged him with her hip until they each sat with one butt cheek on the seat. “Don’t think of the dynasties as dates,” she said, plucking Stiles’s cards out of his hands. “Think of them as families.”

For the next hour, Lydia worked with Stiles to keep his attention. It didn’t work perfectly, but he retained more with her than he had by himself. At some point, Scott left to have lunch with Allison.

Lydia commandeered Scott’s chair, and they continued, finally hitting a stride. For a brief period, Stiles was able to not think about Derek. It didn’t last long, and it hurt almost threefold when the thoughts returned, but he was grateful for the reprieve.

Sitting so close together, Stiles could smell Lydia’s perfume: something citrusy and light. Her lips were painted red to match the belt at her waist. She was beautiful. Stiles should have told her that more often when they’d dated. He only realized he was staring at her and not focused on studying when she turned her hazel eyes on him.

“Stiles,” she scolded, “repeat what I just said.”

“Uh, y-you—it was something about, um, the Tang dynasty?”

“Maybe we should take a break. It’s counterproductive to study for too long anyway.”

“Break. Yeah.”

Lydia stood and stretched, and Stiles found himself feeling disappointed at the loss of closeness. He mimicked her, yawning and joining her on his bed.

“You hungry?” she asked. “I think I have some snacks in my purse.” She started digging through her belongings.

“Do you ever miss being together?” Stiles blurted, heart racing.

Lydia froze. Her curls wobbled when she whipped her head to squint at him. “What?”

Stiles took her gloved hand, smoothing his thumb over the back of her hand. “I was just thinking about it. About us. We had some good times.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “We had lots of good times, Stiles, but that doesn’t mean we worked. I told you before. I missed being your friend. I do not miss being your girlfriend.”

“You don’t want to give it another shot? Just to see?” Stiles already knew she’d seen through him, his voice meek as he rested his head on her shoulder. He wasn’t really asking for this seriously anyway. He was lonely and hurting and seeking comfort, and it wasn’t fair of him to ask this of her.

Lydia’s tone gentled—a rare treat from her. “I know you miss him, but I’m not Derek. You can’t fill that Derek-sized hole in your heart with somebody else.” She kissed his temple and squeezed his hand. “He’s lucky he got to have you while he did. Maybe you and I didn’t work out, but you’re still a wonderful man.”

“Tell everybody else that.”

“Peanut?” she asked, offering him the baggie.

* * *

Annie visited on a Tuesday. She looked perfectly manicured in a blue dress and pearl heels, her little hat tilted to one side. She insisted Stiles step out of his dorm room for them to speak. It would be indecent for a girl to enter a boy’s dorm alone, after all. Not that she was alone. Her chauffeur, Ryan, hovered down the hall looking like he was ready to beat someone to a pulp or hoist Annie over his shoulder and speed off if need be.

“What do you want?” Stiles demanded, folding his arms.

“I tried to warn you, didn’t I? And now you’ve gone and messed everything up for me too.” Stiles frowned, but she waved away his bemusement with her handbag. “Please. Do you think I want to marry a man who lies with other men? I’m disgusted by Derek Hale.”

“Then why are you helping your father blackmail him?”

“My father is blackmailing _me_. I don’t want to marry Derek any more than he wants to marry me, but we’re both between a rock and a hard place.”

“Your own dad is blackmailing you? What does he have on you?”

“If the public learns of Derek’s—dalliances—well, people know we dated in high school. I have dreams for myself. Being anchored with such a black spot on my record would do me no good.”

“How self-centered of you,” Stiles scoffed.

“Shut up. I’m trying to help all of us.”

“How?”

“Papa will be having a Christmas party as some stupid ploy to show off his new speaker system and show the Beacon Hills elite how rich he is, and at that party he will be meeting with some of his more illicit associates to secure a transaction. I can get you and your father on the guest list. Get your father to witness Papa’s dealings. Papa gets locked up, I get his money, and we all get our freedom.”

“That’s an incredibly dicey plan. So many things could go wrong.”

A clatter down the hall drew their attention. Ryan was scrambling to right the fliers he’d knocked off the bulletin board. One of the tacks poked his finger, and he yelped, sucking on it as he glanced at them in embarrassment.

“You good, buddy?” asked Stiles.

“Ryan, please, have some decorum,” Annie sniffed.

“I’ll strive to, Miss Lancaster,” Ryan said.

“You want a Band-Aid?” Stiles offered.

“Oh, tha—”

Annie interrupted, “He’s fine.”

“He’s getting blood on the fliers, Annie. Have a heart. Come on, buddy. I think I have some in my closet.”

Annie crossed her arms and tapped her foot outside while Stiles propped the door open and rooted through his closet. He found the first aid kit sitting on top of a carefully folded shirt tucked in the corner to hide it. Stiles paused. He fingered the shirt, the collar slightly frayed along the edge. After that first night at Derek’s house, when Derek had ruined Stiles’s shirt, Stiles hadn’t wanted to return it and Derek never asked for it back.

Annie cleared her throat, bringing Stiles out of his reverie. He handed Ryan a Band Aid.

“Thank you,” Ryan said.

“He’s got better manners than you, Annie,” Stiles teased.

“Sir, please,” Ryan interjected before Annie could retort. “Miss Lancaster is an upstanding lady.”

Stiles quirked an eyebrow. “Are we talking about the same Annie Lancaster?”

“Please don’t insult Miss Lancaster, sir.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. And my name is Stiles. You don’t have to do the ‘sir’ thing with me.”

Ryan looked reticent at the idea.

Annie huffed. “You’ve wasted enough of my time, Stiles. Are you in or out?”

Stiles glanced back toward the closet where Derek’s shirt lay. Derek was willing to lay down on the wire to let Stiles crawl over him. What was Stiles willing to risk for him? “Can you get my friends on the guest list? Scott, Malia, Lydia, Kira, Allison. We’re going to need as much help as we can get.”

Annie scrunched up her nose as if Stiles had farted. “And earn my father’s suspicion? Absolutely not. Your father will be easy to get on the guest list, being the sheriff and all. You can be his plus one. If you want your friends to attend, find your own way to get them in.” Then she whisked away, leaving the odd sprout of hope in her wake.

The invitation arrived on December first. Stiles phoned his dad to convince him to go because of course Sheriff Stilinski hated public functions like this, especially if they were being thrown by shady guys like Lancaster. Stiles promised him he would explain in person—which he did at the Toadstool.

Stiles introduced his dad to Kira and Noshiko and asked them to help explain the situation with Lancaster. Stiles never explicitly said why Derek was letting himself get extorted into marriage, but by the end of their conversation, Stiles could tell Dad had figured why he wanted to help Derek. He agreed to the plan, and that was what mattered.

Stiles got so hyperfocused on finals and the plan for the Christmas party, he almost refused a phone call until the RA said it was from Malia. Before he even picked up the phone, he could hear her sniffling.

“What happened?” he asked, millions of gruesome scenarios playing out in his head.

“Can you, um, can you come to the animal clinic?” Malia’s voice sounded smaller than Stiles had ever heard it. “Elvis he—”

“Give me twenty minutes.”

Reading the alarm in Stiles’s expression when he reentered the dorm, Scott gunned it so a trip that should have taken fifteen minutes took seven.

Malia glommed onto Stiles before he’d taken a second step into the waiting room. A sour-faced girl glowered at them from behind her, and Stiles recognized her from the pictures in Derek’s house. Cora Hale. She looked a lot like Derek. Though her hair was a lighter shade and her eyes brown instead of blue, she exuded the same intensity—more, even.

Stiles couldn’t keep his eyes from searching the room. Finally, they found him. Derek was seated in a stiff chair, head in his hands. Sniper lay at his feet. Stiles kept his arms around Malia, to comfort her and also to anchor himself in place and keep him from racing to Derek’s side.

“What happened?” Stiles asked.

When neither Malia nor Derek answered, Cora piped up, “Fox had a stroke. He was still breathing when we brought him, but we don’t know anything yet. Deaton is with him.”

“He looked so scared,” Malia muttered. Stiles pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were dry but unfocused. “He was in so much pain and so confused.”

“Here. Sit down,” Stiles guided her to a chair, settling beside her. Scott sat on her other side, taking her hand. The physical contact seemed to ground her. Scott had always been the better listener, the compassionate one who could share in your burden, help you carry it. They didn’t talk. Scott kept his hand on Malia’s, and Stiles bit his overactive tongue because this was not the time for nervous rambling.

Cora went to sit with Derek, laying a steadying hand on his back. He didn’t move, but Stiles thought his shoulders unwound slightly.

A veterinary tech updated them after what felt like an eternity but was probably only forty-five minutes or so. She said Elvis was stable and resting comfortably. The waiting room suddenly depressurized, the air becoming breathable again.

Deaton appeared, a warm smile on his face. “Good news. Elvis should make a full recovery. This will set back his recovery from his prior injuries, but all things considered, I think he’s a very lucky fox indeed.”

Derek hugged Deaton. “Thank you. For everything.”

“My pleasure.” Deaton went over the treatment and preventative measures for the future then paused when he’d finished. The doctor seemed to slip away, leaving the human man, the friend, in his place. “How are all of you doing?” From his tone, it almost sounded like he knew what was happening with Derek and Stiles. He couldn’t, could he? Would Derek have confided in him?

“I’m starving,” said Cora, breaking the uncertain silence.

A scattering of laughter.

“I could use some fresh air,” Derek said. “Stiles?”

For the first time since Stiles had arrived, Derek met his gaze. “M-me?” Stiles stuttered. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

It was dark and cold out, winter in full swing with a harsh wind threatening to freeze Stiles’s eyeballs. The temperature had driven most everybody inside, so they could stroll and talk in private. They meandered down the sidewalk, hunched against the wind.

“Start talking before my nuts freeze off,” Stiles said.

“Don’t go through with Annie’s plan,” Derek blurted.

“What?”

“It’s too dangerous. Somebody could get hurt, and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you or your dad.” He rolled his shoulders. “Happened again.”

“It’s my choice. It’s not just your life Lancaster is fucking up.”

“Do you have any idea who he’s meeting with? What kind of deal is going down?”

Stiles threw up his hands in exasperation. “What does it matter? I gathered it would be dangerous seeing as criminals typically are.”

Derek growled in frustration. “Just let me protect you!”

Stiles blinked at him, the light from the street lamp illuminating the hard line of Derek’s jaw, the cord of muscle protruding from his neck. He laid a hand on Derek’s arm and said softly, “I have been letting you. But sometimes I need to be the one doing the protecting. It can’t always be you.”

The fight bled out of Derek, his shoulders rounding. “I want it to work, but I’m so scared, Stiles.”

“I know. Me too. But we have to try.”

Derek let his head rest in the crook of Stiles’s shoulder, their arms going around each other, onlookers be damned. “I miss you,” mumbled Derek.

“Not sick of me yet?”

“Never.”

“I miss you, too.”

They stood like that for a long time, long enough for Stiles’s nose to go numb. He would have let his whole body go frostbitten if it meant they could stay like that, but reality liked to assert itself. Derek walked him back to the clinic. Stiles hugged Malia and Derek goodnight, Cora offering a curt nod.

Back in Scott’s car, the heat blasting, Scott side-eyed Stiles. “What was that about?”

“He tried to convince me not to go through with the plan.”

“It is pretty risky. Not that I’m backing out.”

“I love him, Scott.”

Stiles let the silence drag on, not looking over to see Scott’s expression because he honestly didn’t care. Not in a cold way, just in that he felt secure in his emotions, and Scott’s personal issues with Stiles’s feelings were Scott’s problems.

Finally, Scott said, “Okay.”

Yeah. It was.

* * *

Stiles didn’t know if he passed his finals, and he didn’t care. Every moment was spent planning in his room at home, ironing out details with his dad, filling in the others on Operation Flytrap. He unofficially requisitioned a tape recorder from his dad’s work, a clunky, beaten monstrosity that the police department had recently replaced with a sleeker model.

The plan was fairly simple. Hide the recorder so they would catch Lancaster’s entire deal on tape and use it as evidence to get him convicted. The hardest part was getting the recorder into the room and finding a place to hide it.

Thanks to Lydia’s high society ties, she pulled a few strings and managed to get Scott and the others on the guest list. Stiles promised to make his mom’s lasagna for her. It had always been her favorite.

Stiles’s bedroom looked like a murder investigation board. Colorful crisscrossing threads represented each player on each team, a scaled version of the Lancaster mansion floorplan was populated with chess pieces for each member: Stiles and Malia as black rooks, Scott and Lydia bishops, Kira and Allison knights, Dad the queen, and Derek the king. Lancaster was the white queen with Annie his pawn.

The board was set.

* * *

The party was on a Friday night, and by the time Stiles had on his rented tux with the invitation in his pocket, he was ready to scratch off his own skin. He rode with Scott and Allison instead of his dad in the hopes of seeming less suspicious.

The Lancaster estate was acre upon excessive acre of sprawling green, well-maintained and fenced off from the rest of the horrible, poverty-stricken world. They had the wrought-iron gate, the perfect reindeer topiaries, the Greco-Roman columns, the underlit fountain. There was even a valet service.

A brightly lit foyer greeted them, black and white checkered tiles leading to a grand staircase. Even here, live music piped through the speaker system Lancaster had installed. A man dressed like a butler who looked like his name was Jeeves accepted the presents they’d brought for the exchange later. They followed the crowd past the staircase into an unnecessarily large ballroom. The wooden floors gleamed stupidly. Everything about this decadent place was annoying.

“Stiles,” hissed a voice from behind. Kira was there, dressed in a cream-colored ballgown and giving Stiles the widest-eyed look he’d ever seen.

“You look amazing,” Stiles said, hugging her. He smiled over her shoulder at Noshiko.

“I saw Derek,” Kira whispered. “He looks—stiff.”

“I doubt I look much better,” Stiles said.

“We should get drinks,” Scott suggested. “Blend in.”

Allison snagged two champagne flutes from a passing waitress. “We’re blending.”

“Like a traffic cone in an empty field,” said Lydia, strutting up behind Allison. She was breathtaking as always, pearls, lace gloves, hair curled. “Our esteemed host is over there.” She nodded toward the wall of French doors that all stood open onto the frigid evening. Lancaster was gesturing animatedly to a beleaguered looking group that included—among others—Annie, Derek, Malia, Peter, and Cora.

What had possessed Peter to attend? Had Lancaster coerced them all? The superior look Peter cast everybody made Stiles think perhaps he just enjoyed feeling important.

“Where is your dad?” Scott muttered to Stiles.

“He’ll be here,” Stiles said absently, momentarily flummoxed at the sight of Derek, groomed and tailored until he was unrecognizable. His stubble had been shaved clean, his hair greased flat, and he wore pristine white gloves instead of soiled work gloves with holes in them. He might have been handsome if he hadn’t been so obviously miserable. Stiles preferred his rough, dirty farmer.

“Let’s dance,” said Lydia.

Stiles yelped as she towed him toward the couples twirling before the musicians. “Lydia, I don’t—I can’t—” But it was useless.

Lydia led as if it were the most natural thing in the world. With her guidance, Stiles managed to only stomp on her toes twice, and she had the grace to smile through it. They whirled in a crescent along the edge of the dancers until they were just feet away from Lancaster and the others.

“Can you hear them?” Lydia uttered under her breath.

“Over the whole damn orchestra Lancaster hired? No.”

Lydia swung them so she had a view of Lancaster. “He’s talking about the house, the architecture. Bragging, more like.”

“Wait, you can read lips?” Stiles asked.

“You get a lot of practice when your parents like to talk about you behind your back.”

“How long have you been able to do that? I-I mean, could you—in high school?”

“Shut up, I’m concentrating.”

She did seem preoccupied, her lead in the dance faltering so Stiles ended up catching her foot and making both of them stumble. They both cried out. Stiles landed half on top of Lydia. The music stuttered, and the crowd of dancing couples broke apart, giggles flowing through them.

Lancaster was certainly noticing them now. His gaze met Stiles’s. A slow smile spread across his lips but did not reach his eyes. “Young love,” he said to the onlookers. “It makes us clumsy.”

The gawkers laughed, and the music strummed back up. Stiles scrambled to his feet and helped Lydia.

“I hope you didn’t hurt yourself breaking Mr. Stilinski’s fall, Miss Martin,” Lancaster said, striding over, as if they were old friends, with his reluctant entourage in tow. With a flourish, he kissed Lydia’s hand, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Your concern is noted,” Lydia chirped in that way she had that immediately let you know exactly what she thought of you.

“You certainly keep odd company for a woman of your standing, no offense to young Mr. Stilinski here.”

“Better odd than boring company. But then you know all about keeping fun company, don’t you, August? I’ve run into some very interesting individuals tonight.”

Lancaster smiled an empty smile. “I presume they have entertained you properly?”

“To be honest, they’ve been a bit of a disappointment.”

“A shame. They will be properly reprimanded. Next year, I hope you will give me another chance to impress you.”

“Well, with the way you’re climbing the ladder, who knows where you’ll be next year. Beautiful party, Auggie.”

Stiles almost couldn’t resist staying to witness Lancaster’s cheeks redden and face darken at the nickname, but he followed in Lydia’s smug footsteps.

“That was incredible. Like watching a tennis match but the ball was invisible,” Stiles said.

“Underhanded insults, vaguely threatening jokes, cryptic wordplay, it’s just these people’s language.”

“Yeah, and you speak it better than ‘Auggie.’” Stiles smirked.

“I was born into this world. Lancaster fought his way in. That’s why he throws these huge soirees. He’s new money, and the old money people don’t like new money so he has to try thrice as hard to fit in and make alliances.”

“Oh, woe is he, all the other reindeer won’t let him play in the reindeer games.”

Lydia laughed. “I wish he could hear you right now.”

Scott gave Stiles a sympathetic look as they approached. “Guess he knows we’re here now.”

Stiles shrugged. “Lydia gave him a tongue lashing that’ll keep him reeling all night. I’m not worried.” He was, in fact, worried.

“Allison is in position. She used you guys as a distraction.”

“Glad to be of service,” said Stiles.

“She’ll signal when Lancaster is on the move. I spotted your dad earlier, but he’s keeping his distance like you said.”

“He knows the plan,” Stiles said, more to reassure himself than anything. “Sorry you and Allison don’t get to dance tonight. Perfect place for a romantic night and you’re stuck helping me with a sting operation.”

Scott shrugged. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here at all. Besides, I want to help.”

They shared a manly nod before busying themselves with pretending to be normal. Scott started to down champagne, just enough to make sure everybody saw, but not so much that he would actually get drunk. Scott was a surprisingly good actor though, and as the minutes ticked by, he played up the tipsy image. He drunkenly knocked into an unfortunate waiter, the hors d’oeuvres on his platter spilling everywhere. Once again, all eyes turned to grimace at Stiles and his friends.

Knocking Scott’s arm over his shoulder, Stiles nodded at Kira and Noshiko, and they headed off to help Malia keep Derek far away from the action. Stiles wouldn’t put it past Lancaster to frame Derek for his own sins.

With a wobbly Scott sagging on him, Stiles hobbled back into the foyer. As they started climbing the steps, a guard in a black suit met them halfway, saying, “Sir, this area is off limits. The party is to remain on the ground floor.”

“Please,” Stiles panted—for real because Scott was committed to the role. “I just need somewhere to let my friend rest and maybe get some water in him. He’s had a little too much to drink. The bathroom down here is full up. Just let me splash a little water on his face or something at least.”

Ever helpful, Scott hung off Stiles, giggling, and mumbled, “Too much? I didn’t—I’m, haa, I’m f-fine, Stiles. I can—whoop!” and toppled to the steps. Stiles and the guard lunged to help him up, though he wasn’t making it easy.

“Sir,” said the guard, “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“It’s all right, Stephen,” said Ryan, mounting the stairs to grasp Scott’s other arm. “They’re close friends of Miss Lancaster’s. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Stephen hesitated, but Ryan was already hoisting Scott past him. Another guard met them at the landing. Ryan gave him a nod, then they turned down a hallway.

“Thanks,” Stiles huffed.

“We need to hurry,” Ryan said. “This way.” Once out of sight of the guards, they let Scott handle himself.

The second floor was bigger than Dad’s entire house. Doors upon doors with polished handles opened onto rooms that seemed to serve no other purpose than to exist. Hallways crisscrossed in a maze. Ryan smashed a hidden button underneath a bust of Augustus Caesar, and a wall panel popped out. It was a secret passage. Stiles was suddenly extremely grateful for their inside man.

Ryan zipped his fingers across his lips, and Stiles and Scott nodded. The passage, dimly lit and bare, looked to be meant for servants to travel unseen throughout the mansion.

A short traipse through the narrow pathway brought them to a nearly invisible door. On the other side, a bookcase slid aside onto an opulent study boasting sofas with red velvet cushions, a coffee table set with an ornate chess board, a mahogany desk housing several expensive looking glass ornaments and an electrical control board, a bear pelt rug that was undoubtedly real.

“Where’s the recorder?” Stiles whispered.

Diving into the shadows of the passage, Ryan returned with a hefty block with two reels and several nobs set in its face. Stiles helped him position it underneath the coffee table, hiding it behind several books that probably cost more than Stiles was worth.

Then it was time to wait.

If somebody wanted to torture Stiles, all they would have to do was stick him alone in an empty room and make him wait. They loitered in the passage, leaving the secret door just barely ajar. Stiles’s palms itched at every creak of the floors or scratch in the walls that could have been Allison signaling on the walkie until finally the crackle of her voice set them all on high alert. “He’s on his way up.”

Stiles fell over himself stumbling for the crack in the door. He was grateful the room was still empty because he certainly would’ve given them away.

Cutting his eyes toward the door to the study, a thought occurred to Stiles. “Lancaster knows about these paths, right? What if he comes this way after the deal?”

Too late.

The doors of the study swung open, and in paraded Lancaster followed by a tall man with close-cropped hair. Two bodyguards flanked the stranger, one of them carrying a suitcase. Scott and Ryan joined Stiles, peeking through the door.

“Where the hell is Annie?” Stiles muttered, glancing back down the passage. Ryan and Scott looked uncertain.

Lancaster spoke with a grandiosity as fake and shallow as the rest of his estate. “Would you like a brandy, Christopher?” he asked as he poured himself a glass.

“Stiles,” Scott hissed.

“It’s Chris,” the man corrected. “And I would appreciate it if we could dispense with the small talk, August.”

“Stiles.”

Lancaster smiled. “No brandy then?”

“Stiles!”

“What?” Stiles finally met Scott’s gaze. His heart sank because he knew that look, the one that said something was extremely wrong and the whole situation was about to go sideways.

“That’s Allison’s dad,” said Scott.

Stiles blinked, shook his head, opened and closed his mouth, just generally failed to digest what Scott was saying. “What?”

Scott dragged him away from the door, ducking their heads together. “Mr. Argent runs a gun shop on the other side of town. I think-I think he’s double dipping.”

“You just forgot to mention that the father of the girl your dating is a black-market _arms dealer_?” Stiles punched Scott in the shoulder.

Scott punched back. “I didn’t know! What do we do now? If Lancaster gets arrested, so does Mr. Argent. He’ll go to prison, Stiles. Allison will lose her dad.”

“Fuck. Okay. Okay. I can talk to Dad—”

“Your dad is the sheriff. You can’t ask him to look the other way. I couldn’t even ask him—”

“What are you two bickering about?” Annie stood inches away, a ghostly shape in the shadows. Stiles stifled the yelp of surprise in his throat with a hand to his mouth.

“Seriously?” he hissed.

“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you two argue like an old married couple.” Annie knew her words would strike the chord they did. Scott stiffened. Stiles rolled his eyes. They didn’t have time for this.

“Did you know?” Stiles asked.

“What?” Annie snapped.

Stiles flailed in frustration, battling to keep his voice down. “That the backroom deal your dad was making was with Allison’s dad!”

“Who is Allison?”

It was Scott’s turn to ask, “Seriously?”

Raised voices from the study attracted their attention before Stiles could get his answer. They all scuttled back to listen.

“No wonder nobody will sell to you,” Argent said. “I should’ve known not to waste my time.”

“Don’t come to me with substandard merchandise and expect me to shill out more than the agreed price,” said Lancaster.

“Call it a service fee for making me come to this stupid party to eat substandard shrimp.”

Argent stalked out, and Lancaster swirled his brandy, eyes lingering on the door even as it clicked shut.

“The plan is shot,” Scott whispered. “He didn’t even buy the guns. Let’s just go.” He looked at Stiles pleadingly, and Stiles started to waver until Annie shoved them aside, sliding open the door. Stiles, Scott, and Ryan barely managed to dive out of the way in time to not be seen. Behind her, she carefully left the opening for the boys to spy through.

Annie swept into the study. “How did it go, Papa?”

Lancaster sighed and kissed Annie on the forehead before they shifted out of view. “Oh, don’t worry your little head about all that business, my sweet.”

“I heard shouting,” Annie pressed.

“Did you try the shrimp? I picked your favorite caterer.”

“Papa. You needed that deal. You’re running out of suppliers to chase off.”

“Annabelle, I’m not going to talk shop with you. Especially not with your little friends listening in.”

Stiles and Scott made it three steps before two looming figures rounded the corner of the dark corridor, blocking their exit. Ryan hadn’t moved, grim face resigned to their fate.

“Gentlemen,” said Lancaster’s voice from inside the study. “Join us.”

The daggers Annie shot them as they entered should have killed them right then and there. “What are you three doing here?” she snapped. She was a good actress.

“Uh, we followed you,” Stiles said with all the grace and style of a newborn foal.

“Spare me, children,” said Lancaster, perching on the edge of his desk. “I knew you would try to scheme up something tonight, Annabelle, but I didn’t think it would be as poorly executed as this. You let this,” he gestured to Stiles with his glass, “flit engineer some half-baked scheme to get me into legal trouble? And with a tape recorder?” One of the guards unearthed the tape recorder from under the coffee table. Lancaster clucked his tongue. “Darling, you still have so much to learn.” He stood and cupped Annie’s cheek in his free hand. “But I am proud of the effort.”

Annie’s fists shook at her sides. “You are old and foolish and nobody at this party respects you. They feign interest in you. You’re stupid for letting them laugh at you behind your back. Marrying me off to Derek won’t change any of that.”

Lancaster seated himself on the plush sofa, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table next to the chess set. “That is how the game is played.”

Stiles claimed the seat opposite Lancaster, Annie folded her arms and plopped down into the desk chair, and Scott stayed standing, tense and ready for a fight. This wouldn’t come to blows. At least, not directly with Lancaster. That wasn’t his style. No, mind games were more his thing. Chess. “One round,” Stiles suggested, picking up the black king. “You win, you get Derek under your thumb. I win, you free Derek of his commitments and leave us alone from now on.”

Lancaster laughed, a real genuine sound that caught Stiles off-guard with how charming he was when he smiled. “This is not a negotiation,” he said, gathering himself. “You are not the one with the upper hand here.”

“No, I’m not. But you didn’t get to where you are by playing it safe. You’re a gambler, August.”

Lancaster’s eye twitched at the familiarity, as if Stiles were unworthy to speak his name. “You’ll have to sweeten the pot. I already get all you offer if I simply toss you out of my party right now.”

“Okay,” said Stiles, ignoring the warning look from Scott. “My father is the local law. Let’s just say I have hands in hard to reach places, and I’ll owe you one.”

Lancaster circled one finger around and around the rim of his glass, his gaze calculating. “All right then.”

Stiles played black, Lancaster white. Their first several moves were quick strikes, establishing their plans of attack, then growing slower as they contemplated how to react to each other’s actions.

“You’re really a shitty father, you know that?” Stiles said, eyes glued to the board.

“I have gifted my daughter my ruthlessness. That is the one useful character trait to have in this world,” said Lancaster.

“Until it makes you the most hated man in town. Power can’t overrule hate.”

A rook sacrificed.

“You underestimate what power can do in the right hands.”

A pawn fell.

“You think just because Derek marries into your family that people in this town will respect you? You don’t get respect by proxy. People like Derek, but they’ll never see you as anything more than a goose trying to be a swan.”

“I’ve said before, I don’t need the locals. They’re a stepping stone, and if it wobbles a bit under my weight, well, I’ll be hopping off quite soon anyway.”

“Or maybe that’s what you wanted the guns for. Win respect through force and fear like trying to threaten Derek and me by sending your goons to attack me in October.”

“Yes, how are your injuries, by the way? I heard Macallan and his men went above and beyond my instructions and got especially creative with that favorite knife of his. It’s too bad that young Hale girl wasn’t with you or they could have really had some fun.”

The scars on Stiles’s back suddenly flamed like electricity crackled under the fresh skin. “Burning down her house wasn’t enough?”

“I do wish I could have beheld the crumble of that dung heap.”

“That’s pretty fucked up, Auggie.”

A knight captured.

Lancaster clenched his jaw. “You are a brave little thing for a conniving fox.”

“I like to think of myself as more a curious cat.”

Pawns and bishops, gone.

“Do you? And how does Derek see you?”

Stiles’s breath hitched until he forced a deep, steadying inhale. “You’d have to ask him.”

A rook toppled.

“You see, Stilinski, I’ve known Derek longer than you. I’ve followed his private conquests for years.”

“You peeping Tom!” Stiles flattened a hand to his chest in mock horror.

“I have seen what becomes of those who fall under his spell.” Lancaster cornered Stiles’s bishop. “A shame to see a young man like you waste your time, your talents on such a villain. Afterall, in the end, he will desert you like all the others.” Lancaster took Stiles’s pawn. “Another victim on the pile of the used and tarnished trash heap Derek Hale leaves behind.” He sent a venomous smile across the board at Stiles.

Stiles’s stilled his bouncing leg, wiped his hands on his slacks. The game was drawing to a close. “Like your daughter?”

Lancaster narrowed his eyes. “My daughter’s value to me is not in her reputation. It doesn’t matter who she affiliated with in the past.” He had Stiles’s king on the run now.

“Really?” Stiles moved his pawn to capture Lancaster’s and firmly cut off the white king’s escape. “Because I think you forget just how powerful a pawn can be. Checkmate.”

Lancaster blinked down at the board. “Cute, Stilinski. A clever misdirect.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, sitting back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “It was.”

Lancaster was looking pretty smug for a guy who had just gambled away his whole plan. “Now I suppose I’m to hand over Hale and let your merry band whisk off into the night to celebrate your daring success?”

“That would be nice.”

Lancaster laughed. “Here’s your first lesson in the real world, Stilinski. People lie.”

“They sure do,” said Stiles.

There was a pause just long enough for Lancaster’s smugness to morph into confusion before the doors banged open, Stiles’s dad and several officers swarming through. Lancaster stood, calmly adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. “Gentlemen. Care to explain the interruption?”

“I think my son said it best. Checkmate, August,” said Sheriff Stilinski, flashing his badge.

“I don’t follow,” Lancaster said, eyes darting to each face in the room.

“Papa.” Annie’s voice was rich with dark pleasure as she rose from behind the desk. With a click, she flipped a switch on the intercom system on Lancaster’s desk, deafening it. Lancaster seemed frozen, staring at the switch until his eyes moved to Annie’s face. Her eyes were hungry and bright. “This broadcasted to the whole party, Papa.”

“We just about gave up when you didn’t go through with that arms deal,” said Stiles. “I admit the tape recorder was a risky move, but I’m kind of glad you forced us to improvise.” He glanced at Annie. “We don’t make such a bad team after all.”

“August Lancaster,” Dad said, “you’re under arrest for criminal solicitation and intent.”

“Hey, Auggie,” said Stiles. Lancaster turned, and Stiles tossed the white pawn to him and looked meaningfully at Annie, though she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Maybe you’ll learn how to treat her one day.”

Stiles’s dad cuffed Lancaster and marched him all the way back through his gawking party guests. Stiles draped an arm over Scott’s shoulders as they watched. “Feels good to put the bad guys away, doesn’t it? Almost like it’s in my blood. Like some ancestor was a warrior of justice and passed on that power to me.”

“Almost like.” Scott grinned, shaking his head.

Back among the party goers, Annie faded into the crowd, which was fine with Stiles, though part of him wanted to keep a close eye on her. Friends close, frenemies closer and all that. But the high of victory swept him away. Lydia, Allison, and Kira rushed over, their cheeks flushed with excitement. Lydia kissed Stiles’s cheek and wouldn’t let him go until a deep voice said, “I can’t believe you pulled it off.”

Derek was there in that dashing yet uncharacteristic tux, an incredulous look on his face. Stiles shrugged awkwardly, suddenly unsure of how to stand or where to put his hands because it still didn’t feel safe to reach out. That didn’t last long. Derek wrapped him in a hug, and Stiles clung to his coat, buried his face into the stiff fabric. It didn’t feel like Derek, didn’t even smell like him with some fancy cologne overpowering his natural scent, and Stiles wanted to rip the tux off him for more than one reason.

Stiles smoothed a hand along Derek’s shaved jaw. “Never seen you without the five o’clock shadow.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yeah. But I don’t hate this look.”

“Don’t get used to it. It’ll grow back soon.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Stiles swiped nonexistent sweat from his forehead. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you look like a plucked chicken.”

“Ouch.”

Stiles smiled, glancing around, wishing he could kiss Derek in front of all these people, let them know he was his. “Can we get out of here?”

“I want to stay and party at that asshole’s expense,” said Malia, snapping her fingers for a waiter.

“I think the party is over now the host is arrested,” Lydia said.

Cora laughed. “That just means the afterparty is starting.” She took Kira and Malia’s hands and made to leave but paused. Over her shoulder, she said to Stiles, “You’re all right, Stilinski. Still not sure you deserve my brother, but you’ll get your chance to prove yourself soon enough.” Then she pranced off with Malia and Kira.

Stiles’s mouth went dry. Why did Cora look even more dangerous than Lancaster and Annie combined? What more proof did she want?

“Ignore her,” Derek muttered. “Let’s go before I wake up and realize I’m dreaming.”

Stiles glanced at Scott, but he was talking to Allison, their heads bent together, expressions somber. He gave Stiles a tiny nod.

Outside the mansion, police cars still staked out the lawn, though Lancaster was nowhere to be seen. Half the police force was corralling grumpy upscale citizens. The other half was getting the statements of those grumpy upscale citizens. Those poor officers would have their hands full for the rest of the night.

Luckily, as the sheriff’s son, Stiles got the wave from Deputy Parrish. Derek had the valet retrieve a shiny blue truck that made Stiles raise his eyebrows.

“Call it reparations for Lancaster being a dick. Plus, Lonnie is a regular at the Toadstool,” Derek said with a wave to Lonnie the valet as he ripped off the ridiculous gentlemen’s gloves Lancaster had made him wear.

Derek raced into the night, the darkness swallowing them. Stiles didn’t know where they were going, and he didn’t care. He rolled down the window, freezing air buffeting into the truck’s cabin. Derek started to protest, but Stiles stuck half his body out the window, howling and laughing because this was the way only freedom could make you feel. Tears welled in Stiles’s eyes from the cold. The roar of the wind lessened as Derek slowed the truck and sidled off the road. He was laughing when Stiles settled back into his seat.

“You are insane,” he said.

“I’m happy,” said Stiles.

A warm smile quirked Derek’s mouth. “Me too.”

Stiles climbed across the seat and kissed him. He tasted like champagne. Derek’s hands threaded through Stiles’s hair, pulling him down to deepen the kiss. It had been so long since Stiles had felt him, tasted him. There were so many days they had missed together. Now was time to make up for it.

Bowties came undone, buttons popped off. Stiles almost ripped Derek’s coat yanking it off him, making Derek laugh into Stiles’s mouth—God how he’d missed that. Derek took his time, situating Stiles so he straddled him. When Stiles leaned back to unbuckle his belt, his butt smashed the horn, and they both jumped and laughed.

“Good thing we’re way out here. Somebody might catch us,” Derek said as they shifted into the far corner, away from the steering wheel.

“Where are we anyway?”

“About a mile from the cabin.”

Stiles grinned and kissed him. “You kidnapping me?”

Derek’s fingers grazed Stiles’s cheek, down his bare chest and abdomen to hook into the waistband of his pants. “Would you complain if I were?”

“Not a peep.”

The button and zipper were undone in the next instant, and Derek helped Stiles maneuver out of his pants and briefs in the cramped space. Finally, Stiles straddled Derek, lower half naked, his dress shirt now wrinkled and unbuttoned and drooping down one shoulder. Stiles grinded against Derek’s hard-on. Hands clutched his ass, spreading his cheeks.

“Do you want me?” Stiles breathed.

“Yes,” Derek murmured into Stiles’s neck, scraping his teeth over his pulse. “I want all of you, Stiles, in every way, forever.”

“You have me.” Stiles kissed him and blindly fumbled with Derek’s fly until he freed his erection, stroking it slowly. Derek clenched his fists in the back of Stiles’s shirt.

“Fuck. Stiles, I’m—”

“It’s been a while, huh? It’s okay.” Stiles quickened his hand on Derek’s cock. “I’ve got you.” He knocked their foreheads together. Derek’s breath grew shallow. Stiles kissed him, swallowing his moan as he came in Stiles’s hand.

Without breaking the kiss, Stiles ringed his arms around Derek’s neck and rocked gently, rubbing their dicks between their bellies. Derek’s hands were clumsy from the orgasm as he squeezed Stiles closer, driving his hips up into the friction.

“I love you,” Stiles said into the kiss. “I don’t ever want to have to live without you again. Don’t do this to me ever again. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t let you go unless you want me to. God, Stiles, I love you. I love you.” Derek repeated it over and over again, quiet but powerful. He was still hard underneath Stiles so he rolled his hips in longer, stronger gyrations.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Stiles asked.

Even in the darkness, Stiles could sense the dark passion emanating from Derek. A little rougher than usual, Derek hitched Stiles’s hips up with one hand, plunging the fingers of the other into Stiles’s mouth. He sucked and circled his tongue. The realization struck him that his own saliva would be entering his ass, and as lewd and obscene as that reality was, it almost made him come.

“Do you want my fingers in you?” Derek asked, tonguing at Stiles’s nipple.

Stiles groaned, “Uh huh.”

Light pressure at the tight muscle. Stiles’s body already knew what it wanted, hips dipping back to hurry along the process.

“Somebody is eager.” Stiles could hear the smile in Derek’s voice.

“You already got to finish once,” Stiles shot back playfully. “Sorry if I’m a little impatient for the main show.”

“Do you want me to make you come before I put it in?”

Hearing Derek talk about sex so frankly yet so tenderly was enough to make Stiles dizzy, as if all the blood in his body suddenly sped toward his dick. “Oh my fucking God, just put it in. I need you inside me. I want to come from you inside me.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me reach down there and do this all myself. Fuck me already.”

Derek let out a surprised little laugh. He spit into his hand, coating his cock. Stiles positioned himself and started to lower onto Derek’s dick. That familiar heat and grating pain. Stiles shut his eyes tight, breathing through it. Maybe he had been a little overeager, but he wasn’t about to back out now.

“You’re really tight,” Derek huffed. “You okay?”

“Just stay still a minute.”

Derek obeyed. He tucked his hands under the edges of Stiles’s shirt, fluttered his fingers down his ribcage, smoothing them back up his belly and chest, soothing. Stiles let him explore every facet of his body. Around his shoulders, down his arms, and back to his thighs. Derek kept his hands there on Stiles’s legs and kissed his chest, his nipple.

The distraction worked, Stiles’s hips beginning to move of their own accord in slow, short rocking motions. Derek breathed deep, mashing his forehead into Stiles’s chest.

“So good, Stiles,” he said.

Stiles took Derek’s hands and placed them on his chest, over his nipples. Derek complied, teasing and pinching. Words and sounds tumbled out of Stiles’s mouth, but he’d lost control over most of his body, letting the sensations drive him. Derek’s cock slid in and out, in and out, slick and easy now. The angle wasn’t enough to hit Stiles’s prostate, but just this was almost too much anyway.

When Derek’s hand ventured down to Stiles’s cock, Stiles gasped and stopped moving, coming in a violent surge. One hand crushed Derek’s wrist so hard he was sure it would bruise later.

As the shudders of orgasm ebbed, Derek took control, fucking up into Stiles. Barely steady enough to keep himself upright, Stiles held on to the back of the seat, the dashboard, the armrest, whatever he could reach to keep from banging his head on the roof of the truck. Derek’s thrusts were hard and fast, and with Stiles on top of him, his cock reached deeper than ever. Stiles knew Derek was nearing climax when he grasped Stiles’s hips hard, slamming him down to on his dick with more and more force. Stiles felt like he would break to pieces. He wanted to. But feeling Derek break to pieces inside of him was just as good. The gush of heat as Derek’s hips stuttered then collapsed, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Stiles melted forward onto Derek. “Can we just do this forever? Have sex. Maybe eat some. Nap a little. Have more sex. Then sex again.”

“Then have a snack and go back to sex.”

“Exactly.”

Derek’s laughter made Stiles bounce, and he realized there was still a dick going limp inside him. He shifted off of Derek. The windows had fogged up. Scandalous. Stiles reached across Derek to trace a finger through the condensation on the passenger window, drawing a smiley face. Derek dabbed his thumb on the glass until he’d shaped a pawprint.

“For Sniper. She’ll be getting worried that I’m not back yet.”

“Should we swing by and pick her up?”

Derek shook his head. “Malia will look after her and Elvis.”

A shiver traveled up Stiles’s spine as the cold crept back into the truck now that their heated session was over and Stiles was still almost completely naked. He tugged on his pants and drew his coat over himself like a blanket.

Derek noticed and clambered over Stiles back into the driver’s seat and started up the truck. As they drove, Stiles snuggled close to Derek. Now he smelled more like sex and sweat than that stupid cologne, and Stiles was almost embarrassed at how smug that made him feel. The tiny triumph made him brazen. He snuck one hand between Derek’s legs. The truck jerked half off the road, and Derek spluttered, “S-Stiles!”

“Yes?” said Stiles innocently.

“You really weren’t kidding. Sex, food, sex, sleep, sex. We haven’t even gotten to the food part.” Derek shook his head in exasperation, but he made no move to stop him.

Stiles rubbed Derek’s soft cock through his jeans. He doubted he would be able to get him erect again so soon after two orgasms, but he could still have fun. A kiss to his shoulder, a soft lap of his tongue on his earlobe. His hand dipped underneath his boxers. He moved slow. Derek was still driving in the dark after all. Flirting with danger was one thing, courting it was another.

Keeping his fingers gentle, Stiles massaged Derek’s balls, sucking carefully at his neck, leaving red marks but nothing that would bruise. Derek’s low hums of appreciation filled the truck. Stiles took note, letting Derek’s moans and gasps guide his attention to his sensitive spots: the supple skin just over his pulse, the crease between his groin and thigh, the shell of his ear.

The jostle of the truck and the plink of gravel against its underbelly roused Stiles out of his concentration on Derek’s body. His lips were sore and his hands sweaty. Derek parked the truck and kissed Stiles deep.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he muttered, inclining their foreheads together. “Can you throw some wood in the fireplace while I crank up the generator?”

Stiles obliged, hustling inside where it was still freezing but sheltered from the wind. A modest fire crackled in the fireplace by the time Derek entered. He slung his coat to the floor and knelt beside Stiles, and in moments he had the fire stoked to a strong blaze, emitting enough heat that their shivers subsided.

Derek laid the afghan and several couch pillows in front of the fire. Stiles stretched out, head propped on one hand as he fiddled with the frayed edge of one of the pillows. “Could we do it?” asked Stiles.

“You’re insatiable, Stilinski.”

“You’re just old,” Stiles joked, grinning at the offended look Derek gave him. “No, I meant could we… Is the forever thing possible? For us?”

Derek stared into the flames, the firelight washing out his pale eyes to a colorless gray. “The truth? I don’t know. I’ve never met a gay couple who stayed together without ever breaking up or… Getting broken up.”

“Why do people suck?”

Derek laughed humorlessly. “Because they always have. But they’re pretty great sometimes too.”

Stiles sat up, resting his back against the stone fireplace. Half of it was hot, the other half cold through his shirt. “Can we try?” he asked in a small voice.

After a moment, Derek looked at him, studied him. “I can’t be the reason you get hurt again.”

“I know it’s dangerous, but we live in California not Alabama—”

“Beacon Hills isn’t exactly the hub of California’s progressiveness. This world isn’t for people like us. Our existence is _illegal_. We either live life as a lie, marry the woman, have to the two kids, do the whole American Dream, or we live in the dark, always terrified of someone finding out, barely ever opening our hearts to anyone.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark.”

Derek laughed. “That’s the corniest thing anybody’s ever said.”

“I mean it though. It’s not ideal, but we could live on your farm, stay out of people’s way. We can tell people I’m your live-in farmhand.”

Derek regarded him warmly. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“I’m not letting you get away that easily.” Stiles crawled on his hands and knees to kiss Derek, starting out soft then deepening it until he’d pressed Derek onto his back. Straddling him, Stiles straightened, splaying his hands across Derek’s chest. “I love you, okay? We are going to make this work. I’m never letting anyone take you from me. Never letting anyone hurt you.”

Derek brushed his hands up Stiles’s forearms. “My white knight. You’ll always swoop in to save me, huh?”

Stiles planted his palms to either side of Derek’s head. “Whenever, wherever.” He kissed Derek hard, reinforcing the words with his tongue along the roof of Derek’s mouth, his teeth on Derek’s lips.

“You’re already raring to go for another round, aren’t you?” Derek asked, his hand greeting the bulge in Stiles’s trousers.

“I can’t help it. You’re so seductive.”

“Shut up.” Derek laughed. “I don’t think I can get it up again yet, but if you want to…” He pushed Stiles back, sitting up and running his hands up Stiles’s back. “Do you want to fuck me?”

Stiles’s mouth fell open. “You-you mean—me—in you?”

The corners of Derek’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Yes, you in me.”

The idea had occurred to Stiles before, but he’d never thought it would be something Derek was into. He didn’t seem the type to receive. Always the giver, never the taker. Was that selfish of Stiles, to assume he always be the one being held? He shook away the stab of guilt because he had a proposition to accept.

“I, uh, yeah. Yes. That-that would be—great.”

“Lie down. Can you prep me while I get you ready?”

Stiles’s mouth went dry. He nodded mutely. Stiles stretched out flat on the afghan. Derek kicked off his pants and positioned himself over Stiles, immediately swallowing Stiles’s cock deep into his mouth. Once the shock of the sudden sensation faded, Stiles clutched Derek’s ass. His pubes were black around his twitching asshole.

When Stiles swept his tongue over the tight muscle, Derek’s hips canted slightly. The skin here was dark and hot and salty. Stiles flattened his tongue, rippling tiny waves against his hole like Derek had done to him so long ago. Inserting the tip of his tongue felt strange, but the groan from Derek egged him on. He coated a finger in saliva, plunging it in slowly. Then another. He was so absorbed in pleasuring Derek he didn’t notice Derek deepthroating him until he gagged.

“Fuck,” Derek said, drawing back. Twisting to look at Stiles he asked. “How do you want me?”

Stiles’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “On top.”

Derek grinned and crawled to straddle Stiles face on. “All right then. Giddyap.” One hand guiding Stiles’s dick, he sank his hips onto it. Stiles held his breath, letting Derek set the pace until the head popped past the tight ring of muscle. Derek exhaled, circling his hips as he acclimated. God, he was tight.

Stiles covered his eyes with one arm because the scene, the sounds, the sensations, it was all so much he had to count his breaths to keep from coming. Derek rutted his hips, bouncing more purposefully now. A sharp intake of breath, and Stiles braced his hands on Derek’s thighs to slow him.

“Too much?” Derek asked.

“Fuck, I’m so close already.”

“It’s okay.” Derek feathered his lips over Stiles’s. “Fill me up with all of you.”

Stiles muttered countless expletives, grabbing Derek’s hips and shoving him downward as he fucked up into him.

“God,” Derek grunted. “Yes. Fuck me, Stiles.”

Stiles keened, digging his fingers into Derek’s skin. Derek clamped his hands on Stiles’s arms, steadying himself. With his head thrown back in ecstasy, he looked like a Renaissance painting, all perfect proportions and lithe muscles.

“Does it feel good?” Stiles puffed.

“So good.” Derek’s voice wavered with the force of their thrusts.

Remembering their time in the truck compared to that first night in the dorm, Stiles—filled with strength and steadiness despite the desperation in his blood—smoothly transitioned them so Derek lay on his back. He looked surprised at the sudden change but didn’t contest it. Stiles reentered, fucking into him with more control now, longer movements. He loved the way Derek’s moans broke with every shove that hit his prostate. Derek hooked his hands behind his knees, hugging them to his chest to let Stiles plunge deeper. He looked beautiful. His head twisted to the side, eyes screwed tight, lips parted from the pleasure singing through him.

“God. Derek,” Stiles groaned. “Almost.”

“Do it. Come in me.”

The release set off black fireworks in Stiles’s vision as he came for the third time that night. This time inside of Derek. Not his mouth. Not his hand. Inside of him.

Derek cupped Stiles’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs on his cheeks. “I love you. I love you.”

Stiles rested his forehead on Derek’s, their panted breaths mingling as the tension bled out of their bodies. They shifted so they lay facing each other, Derek’s back to the fire. His arm looped Stiles’s waist. Stiles submerged into his embrace, sighing into his chest and wishing he would stay awake all night to feel this, to feel Derek holding him until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just btw this is the last chapter that has smut in it. If that's what you come to this fic for (which I don't blame you lol) then just know the final chapter and the epilogue will have plenty of banter and fluff but will NOT have smut. Anyway, I'm glad our bois are back together. :3


	6. We're Still Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYBODY WHO HAS READ!!!! I had a great time writing this fic and interacting with everybody who commented. The epilogue is short so I'm posting it with this chapter instead of waiting another week. I will be writing more Teen Wolf fics in the future, but not for some time. I'm working on a Destiel fic at the moment and that won't be ready to upload for a couple at months at least. I'll probably post a few oneshots here and there, but whether you return for later works from me or not, thank you for reading and thank you for your kindness. For the last time, I hope you all enjoy!! <3

“Did you know?” asked Stiles.

Malia frowned at him as she chewed her cheeseburger. “Know what?”

“When you invited me out here that first time. Did you know what would happen?”

“That you’d fuck my cousin by the lake? No, can’t say I saw that coming.”

Stiles flailed his hands in a hushing motion even though they were alone in the kitchen. They bent with their elbows resting on the kitchen counter, plates of cheeseburgers before them while Sniper lay at their feet, ready for her duty as master of scraps disposal. “I didn’t—never mind. Whatever. So, you didn’t think I was queer before?”

“I thought you might be, but it’s hard to tell when the person doesn’t even know it themselves. What, did you think I brought you out here just so Derek could seduce you?”

“Wha—no, never—that thought—never crossed my mind.”

Malia barked a laugh just as Derek opened the screen door, dressed in a red and white plaid apron and carrying a plateful of more grilled burgers. Did he think the three of them were going to eat fifty burgers each? “What are we laughing about?” he asked.

“Stiles thought we conspired to bring him out here so you could seduce him,” Malia said before Stiles could stop her.

“Well, he’s right,” Derek said, matter-of-factly. “Us evil gays lured you out with the prospect of manly hunting and fishing just so I could corrupt your innocent little heterosexual soul.”

Stiles, mouth full of food, brandished his remaining half a burger at Derek. “Okay, sarcasm is my thing. You can’t steal my thing. It’s my only method of self-defense.”

“Who said anything about sarcasm?” Derek gave him a doe-eyed look.

“If this burger wasn’t so delicious, I’d throw it at you,” Stiles threatened, tearing off another bite. “Mm. Fo good.”

“Thanks for bringing supplies,” Derek said to Malia.

“Yeah,” Stiles added. “Derek’s leg was starting to look pretty appetizing, so good thing you showed up when you did.”

“How was last night? Have fun with Kira and Cora?” asked Derek, removing his apron and fixing himself a burger.

Malia dropped her gaze to her plate. “Yeah, loads. So Noshiko said Lancaster is lawyering up.”

Stiles and Derek shared a look at that sudden change of subject, but they didn’t mention it. “To be expected,” was all Derek said.

“And Annie already scheduled an interview with the Beacon Hills Gazette. Probably going to play up the water works in the picture to make herself more sympathetic.”

“I hope she tells people Lancaster beat her, make sure he gets sent away,” Stiles spat.

Derek suddenly looked perturbed. “I just hope she keeps us out of it.”

* * *

Annie’s interview made a big splash on the front page. As Malia had predicted, the photo accompanying the article showed Annie in a dark dress and hat, dabbing the corner of her eye with a handkerchief, though her cheeks looked suspiciously dry and flawless. Stiles skimmed most of it until he spotted his own name. Somehow the journalist had found his real first name. Annie had mentioned the attack on him, citing her father as the one who put a hit out on him because he had supposedly shown too much interest in Annie.

The thought turned Stiles’s stomach.

The rest of the article described Annie’s teary-eyed confession of her father’s terrible deeds. The one highlight was a brief explanation for Annie and Derek’s broken engagement: Annie was just too emotional and uncertain about everything now with her father in police custody. She simply couldn’t bear the thought of a wedding now. Stiles was tempted to cut out that excerpt and tack it over his bed.

Derek read over Stiles’s shoulder as he folded towels. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me too. She’s talking about her father going to trial, and if that happens, we might be called on to testify.”

“Lancaster has no reason to keep our secrets anymore.”

Stiles shuddered. “Are we right back where we were before? He could just blackmail us again to get us to not testify—or even perjure ourselves.”

“No, we aren’t back to square one. Not yet.” Derek kissed the crown of Stiles’s head. “We’re together now. That counts for something.”

“I don’t care anymore if he outs us.” Stiles scowled, slapping the newspaper down. It wasn’t true, but he wanted it to be. Derek didn’t say anything, and after a moment of stewing in his rage, Stile joined him in folding towels. As they worked, he had an out-of-body moment, appreciating the domesticity of what they were doing, shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence. For the briefest of moments, it felt possible for them to have a normal relationship. Isolated in that cabin, just the two of them, that feeling lasted, though the dread of losing it clouded every minute. That only made Stiles cling stronger to every second.

His heart almost broke when an unexpected knock sounded at their door that evening.

“Miss Lancaster,” Derek said in surprise, frozen with the screen door still between them.

“Do I get an invite inside or am I supposed to stand out here in the cold?” she snarled in that snippy style that could rival Lydia’s.

Derek opened the screen door for her. Scathing eyes examined every item and surface, more merciless than a mother-in-law inspecting for dust. “It’s barely changed, has it?”

Then, like a slap in the face, Stiles remembered that Derek had dated Annie. Of course, she’d been invited out to their family cabin at some point. God, what had they done together here? And where? The mental images made Stiles’s stomach lurch.

“What do you want? How did you know we were here?” Derek asked.

“Please, the only places you go outside of your home are that seedy little bar, the university—though not since you were fired—and here. You’re predictable, if nothing else, Der Bear.”

_Der Bear?_ Stiles really would vomit.

Annie shot a smug glance at him. She was toying with them.

“I thought we were on the same side now,” Stiles said at the same time Derek asked, “What do you want?”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. If you’re so impatient to know, I came out here to bring a little gift.” She dug in her little white purse and produced a slip of paper. “I’d say this makes us even.”

Derek took the paper and scanned it. Stiles stepped closer to read for himself. It was a letter of—almost—apology from Beacon Hills University asking that Derek resume his position as groundskeeper for the school.

“Cora is our soccer team’s best player. I’d hate for her to have to drop out,” Annie said.

“This is—uncharacteristically benevolent of you,” Derek said. He lifted a sincere gaze to her. “Thank you.”

“Yes, you’re welcome for getting you back your second job so you can overwork yourself instead of simply paying your bills myself with my immeasurable wealth.”

“There’s the girl I know,” Derek scoffed.

Stiles shook his head, grinning. “No, no, Derek, I think I hear concern somewhere in there.” Derek quirked an eyebrow. “She thinks you’ve been working too hard, and she’s offering to pay Malia and Cora’s tuition. How generous.”

Annie narrowed her eyes at them. “Leaving now. Move.”

Stiles and Derek stepped aside. As the screen door clattered behind her, Derek called, “Thank you, Annie. Really.”

Annie paused. Without turning, she remarked, “It’s been a long time since you’ve called me that.” Then she was gone.

* * *

Second semester of Stiles and Scott’s freshman year began. Stiles fell into a routine of riding out to the farmhouse with Malia most weekends, which worked out for all involved since Allison and Scott could have the dorm to themselves.

But with the start of the new term came the start of the Lancaster trial.

Lancaster’s lawyers pushed for the trial to happen sooner to get him freed quicker and to put a timer on the BHPD’s opportunity to gather evidence. The first day of the trial was set before the end of March. To Stiles’s surprise, only Derek was asked to testify for the prosecution. When he asked his dad about it, he obfuscated and avoided. When Stiles went so far as to offer to testify, his dad declined. Finally, he demanded to know what was going on.

The lines in his dad’s face look deeper than usual. He stood in his office, eyes cast down, half facing Stiles. “I’m protecting you, son. The defense is going to put anybody we call to that stand through the ringer.”

“I can handle it.”

“No. They’re not just going to ask you questions, drill you, try to make you trip up. They’re going to dig through everything in your life. And Lancaster… They’re going to use anything they can against you.”

“I know. I know the risks.”

“Stiles—” Dad scratched a hand through his hair. “This is putting your life on the line. Our lives. For him.”

That gave Stiles pause. He’d been so preoccupied with school, Derek, following the Lancaster case, that he’d forgotten that his reputation affected more than just him.

“It’s the same if Derek testifies, they’ll bring up our relationship to discredit him and the attack on me.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Dad.” Stiles gave him an exasperated look. “We do know that. Like you said, they’ll use anything they can. Besides, they don’t have any proof of Derek and me being together, only Lancaster’s word.” It was a flimsy excuse. The mere whisper of the possibility that the local hero and the sheriff’s son were in a torrid relationship would ruin their lives, the lives of their families and friends forever because once the question was asked, it could never be unspoken.

“Then neither of you testifies.”

“And all our hard work goes down the drain when Lancaster is set free.”

Dad slumped in his desk chair, eyes closed. “It had to be him, huh? Hundred other guys to pick from and you go with him.”

Stiles sank low in his chair, mumbling, “It’s not like you had a choice when you fell in love with Mom.”

Dad opened his eyes and sighed. “You love him?” He sounded defeated.

Stiles’s voice came out a thin whisper. “Yeah.”

Dad nodded.

On his way out of the police station, Stiles spotted a familiar shaved head. “Deaton,” he greeted.

The veterinarian jumped, looking up from the paperwork he was filling out. “Oh, Stiles, hello.”

“Is everything all right?” Stiles gestured to the papers.

“Everything is fine. I was just filling out a statement.”

Stiles nodded, recognizing those forms were for visitation, but he didn’t call Deaton’s lie. Instead, he glanced over Deaton’s shoulder to the conference room where they usually let prisoners talk to their lawyers. Through the blinds he could make out Lancaster. He looked stunned, staring numbly at the table where his shackled hands rested.

When he looked up, Stiles almost flinched. The blank shock in his expression morphed into a seething contempt as he recognized Stiles.

Stiles left without another word to Deaton or anyone else.

* * *

Lancaster wore prison gray to court—a good look on him. Seriously. The man still looked regal and sophisticated in the drab one-tone uniform.

A bunch of legal proceedings happened that Stiles tuned out until the prosecution got up to kick off opening statements. The man leading the prosecution was a stout gentleman with balding brown hair and a big red nose. He looked more suited to playing Santa Claus in a Christmas movie than convincing a jury of someone’s guilt, but his speech was surprisingly efficient and emotionally impactful.

The defense attorney looked like he could have been Lancaster’s brother. Neatly cut blond hair, a handsome, friendly face. Several of the female jurors perked up when he started talking.

The prosecution had many witnesses in line to call on, but first they chose their most damning victim of Lancaster. Annie had dressed modestly—for Annie. A navy-blue dress with a white ribbon in her hair. She’d forgone lipstick and heavy eyeshadow, but her face was still softened with makeup. The whole look gave the impression she was younger than she was. Child-like innocence. She was a master manipulator. The jury ate it up.

“Papa always told me,” Annie said, “‘business is business, Annabelle.’ Now I think I see that was an excuse he used to handwave away any time I expressed my discomfort with the sort of people he was doing business with.”

“Could you clarify what sort of people you mean?” asked the prosecutor.

“The sort who sold weapons on the black market, mercenaries who accepted money to hurt people. Criminals.”

“Did your father often involve you when it came to dealings with these people?”

“Not always, but often enough. He said my job was to stand there and look pretty, a distraction and a disarming presence.”

“Did you ever feel endangered during these dealings?”

“Yes.”

Stiles wondered how much of that was true. Judging by Annie’s face, it was all in earnest, but she was a fantastic liar. Then Stiles glimpsed the sad expression Ryan wore several seats away. If anybody knew at all what her home life was like, it was him.

To Stiles’s surprise, Annie didn’t cry while the prosecutor questioned her. She didn’t even play up much of anything, and Stiles was beginning to suspect that she didn’t need to. Lancaster wasn’t just an awful person to those outside his family.

When the defense cross-examined her, Annie did finally start to cry, but it was clear she was trying not to. Her eyes kept shifting to her father as if afraid of punishment. By the end of her testimony, Stiles was emotionally exhausted. He powered through because there was no way he was missing a word of this, paranoia telling him the moment he set foot outside the courtroom, the defense would deal such a critical blow that the prosecution would never recover. He sat through a couple more testimonies until the judge finally called a fifteen-minute recess.

Stiles didn’t dare go talk to Derek so he wandered his way to the restroom to splash water on his face. When he finished, he found Annie waiting outside. She didn’t say anything when he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

After several silent minutes, Stiles ventured, “How are you holding up?”

“By myself, as usual. I’m fine.”

Ryan loitered several yards away. “Ryan isn’t enough company?”

Annie scoffed, tossing her head to the side, but Stiles caught the softening in her exterior. When she didn’t say anything else, Stiles prompted, “Did you need something?”

Annie’s foot tapped furiously. “I never said—thank you. For what you did. So. Thank you.”

“Getting Derek his job back was thanks enough.” Annie nodded and turned to go when an impulse struck Stiles, and who can say no to an impulse? “Do you want to hang out later? We’re all meeting at the student center for dinner.”

Without turning to face him, Annie laughed and said, “And be seen with you riffraff? Certainly not.”

Stiles smiled. “Seven sharp in the east sitting area if you change your mind.”

Annie did show up—late—with Ryan in tow. Everyone, especially Derek, was initially less than welcoming, but before long Kira, Malia, and Cora were corralling Annie off to dance to some musician playing guitar across the common area. Ryan stared after them wistfully.

Derek had the farm to look after early in the morning so Stiles accompanied him to his truck parked near the dorm, but Derek headed for the building instead. Stiles followed him up to the room. Stiles unlocked the door and entered, but Derek stood in the doorway, gazing around.

“I didn’t think I’d ever come back here,” Derek said. Memories of the last time he’d been in this room flooded back, and Stiles’s heart thrashed in his ribcage.

“I’m glad you did,” said Stiles.

Derek stepped across the threshold and shut the door.

“You know,” Stiles said, splaying out on his bed enticingly, “you could stay this time.”

Derek smiled. “I actually do have to get home.”

Stiles sat up. “Then why’d you come up here?”

Derek plopped down beside him, guiding Stiles’s head to rest on his chest. “I don’t want to go home without you,” he said.

“Are you inviting me back with you? I have homework, but I could—”

“Would you want to live with me?”

Stiles chuckled. “Aren’t I the one who talked about us shacking up on your farm?”

“Can we get another dog?”

Stiles’s face scrunched in confusion, and he straightened to frown at Derek. “What is going on with you tonight? You’re being weird.”

“Marry me?”

Derek’s gaze was soft and vulnerable. So much love and warmth lived in his eyes it almost overwhelmed Stiles.

“What?” Stiles croaked.

Derek took Stiles’s left hand, thumbing the skin where a wedding band would sit. “I’m asking you if you’ll marry me. I don’t have a ring, but we can get something made.”

“Derek…”

“Peaches.” He brushed his knuckles along Stiles’s cheek.

“Get married—we can’t. I love you, of course, and I’d say yes if I could, but-but—it’s not possible.”

“Why?”

“There’s that pesky little issue of legality.”

“Who says we need it to happen in the eyes of the law?”

“Isn’t that the point of getting married?”

“No church, no pastor, no marriage license. You, me, and our loved ones at the farmhouse. Our house.”

Stiles sat back, staring at him. “You’re serious.”

“I love you, Stiles. No matter how this trial goes, I want to know I’m yours and you’re mine, and I want—well, not everybody, but a select group of people to know.”

It wasn’t often words escaped Stiles. Usually he didn’t like it, but this time he could make an exception. He ingrained the memory of Derek’s face in his mind as he said, “I’ll marry you.”

They collided in an embrace. Derek reclined so he lay with Stiles half on top of him, and they stayed like that, listening to each other’s breathing, making that tiny dorm room their own universe for as long as they could afford.

* * *

Derek was one of the final witnesses slated to testify. After the past week of both attorneys grilling witnesses while the jury grew more and more restless, tensions were running high. Stiles’s emotions couldn’t decide whether to feel relieved or apprehensive as Derek took the stand.

Annie had lent him one of the many suits her father had had made for him. A middle finger to her father. Stiles could appreciate that.

Derek recounted the long and sordid history he shared with Lancaster, and Stiles was pleased to see the jurors enthralled with his words. Several of the women even eyed Derek heatedly. Jealousy had never been a strong feeling in Stiles, but he gained a cruel sort of satisfaction knowing none of them could ever be for Derek what he was.

When it came time for the defense’s cross-examination, Stiles focused his attention.

“Mr. Hale,” the defense attorney began, “as Counselor Raines established you were recently engaged to Mr. Lancaster’s daughter, but the two of you broke it off after Mr. Lancaster’s incarceration. Was it a mutual break?”

“Yes.”

“You and Miss Lancaster are still on good terms, then?”

“We—are now, yes.”

“You are now? So, you weren’t before the engagement?”

Derek studied Rochester for a long moment, suspicious of where he was going with this line of questioning. This was headed toward the blackmail, and Stiles did not like it. “We had a bad break up in high school and hadn’t been amiable since,” said Derek.

“But you started dating some time before the engagement?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

Derek shifted in his seat. “We went on dates, but we weren’t officially dating.”

“You enjoyed one another’s company?”

“Not particularly.”

“To clarify, you and Miss Lancaster decided to get married when the two of you hadn’t dated for years and still held enmity toward one another?”

Derek looked stiff. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Lancaster was blackmailing me.”

“Do you have proof of that?” Rochester sniped.

“Why don’t you look at the evidence, the animal traps he set on my land or the pink slip he delivered personally to my home when he got me fired from my job at BHU?”

“There is no proof linking those accusations to my client, I’m afraid. What is the reason you propose he was blackmailing you?”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “He thought if I married into the family that he could use me to gain popularity and polish his public image.”

“Why would your marriage to his daughter gain him positive publicity?”

Derek shrugged. “I’m liked well enough around town, I guess. More than he is, at least.”

“Mr. Lancaster is a major public figure in Beacon Hills, having donated to many local and national charities, supplied local jobs, and funded many expansions to this fine town. Any amount of attention he would garner from affiliating with you would be negligible. No, Mr. Hale, I think this blackmail story is a ruse to distract from the truth.”

Stiles frowned in tandem with Derek.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rochester said, facing the jury, “I purport that Mr. Hale was, in fact, in league with young Miss Lancaster to frame her father so she could seize control of her father’s fortune, setting aside a sizable portion for her cohort, of course.”

Derek scoffed. Stiles was stuck, shock at this random accusation battling with relief that Rochester, for whatever reason, hadn’t attacked Derek’s weakest spot. Would they really escape this trial with their secret intact?

It seemed so.

The cross-examination lasted another half an hour or so. The final witness was called. Closing statements. Then finally the jury adjourned to deliberate.

Stiles and the others gathered outside the courthouse. It seemed like half the town had come out to support Derek during his testimony. Deaton, Noshiko, and several regulars from the bar, including Rudy, exchanged words and claps on the shoulder with Derek before heading back to their lives, though Deaton and Noshiko lingered. Rudy winked at Stiles as he passed.

“How are you?” Cora asked Derek when he came over to the rest of them.

“Fine. Ready for this to be over.”

“We should celebrate,” Malia blurted. “Tonight. In case we lose tomorrow.”

Everybody smiled uncertainly. Derek hugged Malia close, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “I think that’s a great idea. Drinks and food at my house?” He glanced between Stiles and his dad. “Sheriff? Care to join us?” he asked, tentative but not afraid.

A polite refusal crossed Dad’s face, but then he nodded once, saying, “Why not?”

When they moved to leave, Stiles realized he’d have to choose who to ride to the farmhouse with. Dad, Derek, or Scott.

He chose the middle road before his dad noticed him contemplating. Scott’s car fit Scott, Stiles, Allison, and Lydia comfortably, and they all followed Derek’s new blue truck from downtown out to the dirt roads that led to his home. Their home. Stiles’s chest warmed as the quiet little house came into view, Sniper bolting out through the doggy door. This had already felt like home for a while now.

Sniper was elated to see so many new people. She darted between their legs, yipping and licking at fingers in hello. Stiles grinned when Dad crouched to let Sniper bathe his chin while he scratched her neck.

Derek started up the grill first thing.

“That was a surprise,” Stiles said, helping Derek drag the dusty plastic table out from the shed.

Derek didn’t look up from locking the table legs in place. “What?”

“Lancaster. They didn’t go after you like I thought they would.”

“Yeah…”

“You know something.” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Since when do we keep secrets?”

“I’m not keeping secrets. At least not my own secrets.”

“It’s all right, Derek,” said Deaton, setting a platter of raw hamburgers, hotdogs, and chicken breasts on the table. He wiped his hands on the rag hanging from his back pocket, staring at his hands and refusing to meet Stiles’s gaze. “I’m afraid it was my doing that August didn’t confess your relationship to his lawyer. August and I have something of a history. I—know some things August would rather I didn’t, and I threatened to testify with that information if he proceeded with outing you two.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “What the hell do you know that would scare him that much?”

“Stiles,” Derek chided.

Deaton waved a dismissive hand. “I went to high school with August. He wasn’t a popular kid. He was poor, and he had an unfortunate lack of style. I felt bad for him and befriended him. I think he was so lonely that my kindness meant more than it should have. He grew so attached… I didn’t mind, but then one day he tried to kiss me.” Stiles balked. Deaton’s lips twitched at his reaction. “I’m not proud of how I reacted. He was never the same after that. Deep down, I fear I may have had a hand in making him into the hateful man he is today. Today, again, I am not proud of how I used that memory. I don’t relish shaming him into silence.” Deaton’s hands trembled, clutching the rag. Derek laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I won’t thank you for doing that,” Derek said gently. “But you shouldn’t feel guilty.”

Deaton either couldn’t reply or didn’t want to. He nodded jerkily and hustled away into the house, head bowed.

Stiles gaped at nothing in particular, processing. Finally, he asked Derek, “Lancaster is gay?”

Derek struck a match, tossing it into the grill. “I don’t know. I think he’s too full of anger and hatred to really know anything about himself.”

“That’s so fucked up.”

“It is.”

They were quiet for a long time while Derek stoked the flames to his satisfaction. For the first time Stiles noticed how much raw meat he had lined up. “You had all this meat just laying around?”

“I may have mentioned my special party idea to Malia.” Derek gave Stiles a meaningful look. “She may have run with it and pushed my timetable forward a smidge.”

Stiles froze. “Ton-tonight?”

“Unless you want to wait. I don’t mind.”

“I—well—no, I don’t want to wait. I just—” Stiles lowered his voice. “Grooms usually get a heads up before their fake wedding day.”

Derek’s features softened. “I like the sound of that. Groom. And it’s not a fake wedding, just secret. If it’s too sudden, we’ll do it another time. It’s okay, Peaches, I’ll wait as long as you want.” The love and sincerity in his eyes made Stiles look away, his cheeks burning and legs suddenly as steady as a newborn fawn’s.

“I don’t want to wait. But what do I tell my dad? ‘Hey, Pop, great party—oh, by the way, mind giving me away to my boyfriend at this secret wedding we set up on a whim?’”

Derek laughed. “I like a lot of these words coming out of your mouth. Groom. Wedding. Boyfriend.” Stiles swallowed hard. “And the bride is the one that’s given away, by the way.”

Stiles squinted at him. “You’re not being helpful.”

“Are we having a prewedding spat?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m leaving now. Good luck getting married to yourself.”

“Married?” said an amused voice. Thankfully, it was Noshiko quirking an eyebrow at them both. “Did some major legislation pass that I was unaware of?”

“No, we—um—” Stiles looked to Derek for help.

“We’re thinking of having an impromptu, secret ceremony,” provided Derek. “Just for us and you guys.”

“Who are the best men? Who is officiating?” Noshiko asked.

Stiles blanched. “Shit. Are we—should we do that?”

Derek sat on the edge of the plastic table, which strained under his weight, and crossed his arms thoughtfully. “I guess I pictured something less formal.”

Noshiko shook her head, smiling fondly. “Boys.” As if that explained everything. “I’ll stand up there and tell you two when to kiss, if you want.”

“You _are_ good at telling people what to do,” said Derek.

“So now I have to tell my Dad I’m about to get secretly married _and_ ask Scott to be my best man?” Stiles was half joking, but it was starting to feel overwhelming.

“You worry about your buddy.” Noshiko patted his arm. “I’ll take care of the sheriff.” The way she said it sounded like she was about to assassinate him. Stiles took a deep breath, the weight on his chest easing as she whisked away to work her magic on his dad. Good luck to her.

Stiles scoped the yard for Scott but, instead, found him inside, helping Malia and Allison chop vegetables and wrap them in tin foil to throw on the grill. The smell of seasonings and spices almost rocked Stiles off his feet. He quietly pulled Scott aside and explained the secret wedding. Scott’s mouth gaped.

Then he hugged Stiles.

The warm, familiar reminder that Scott was there for him made Stiles’s eyes sting.

“Tonight? Here?” Scott asked, releasing Stiles. “What about your dad? He’s still not all the way onboard yet, right?”

“Noshiko said she’d talk to him.”

“Oh, well, nothing to worry about then.”

They laughed. “I don’t know why we didn’t have her lead the prosecution,” Stiles joked.

“If you two are just going to giggle over there, come put your hands to use,” Allison called, her dimples emerging with her smile.

Stiles and Scott ferried platters of veggies and bread out to Derek who gave Stiles a questioning glance. Stiles made a subtle quelling motion with his hand.

“So, Scott,” Stiles began. “With the—thing—happening later, um, I wanted to ask if you’d, you know… Best man?”

Scott’s grin was slow and wide and happy. He grabbed Stiles in another hug. “Of course, man. I’d be honored.” Scott backed up, meeting Stiles’s gaze. “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too.”

Suddenly sheepish, their gazes wandered until Scott cleared his throat and declared the girls still needed help in the kitchen. Stiles scratched Sniper behind the ears. She sat at Derek’s side, diligently waiting for any scraps.

“Well, I have my best man. I’d say I’m winning,” Stiles said, planting a hand on the table but misjudging the distance and barely catching himself before he faceplanted in the grass.

Derek didn’t stifle his amusement. “Yeah, I saw that very manly exchange. Getting married is a competition now?”

“Isn’t any relationship?”

“This is going to be a short marriage if we stick with that metric.”

“Short and brilliant enough to outshine every star for galaxies.”

“Don’t try for poetry, it’s not your style.”

“You don’t know. I could be a secret poet. Keep a little notebook with all my—musings. And. Such.”

Derek shot him a sidelong grin, the faint crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes showing, warming Stiles’s heart.

Stiles canted close to him, muttering, “Who are you going to ask?”

“I’m going to ask Cora and Malia to stand with me,” Derek said, the sizzle of a burger he flipped onto the grill punctuating his words.

“Oh. Best—women.”

“Yup.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, the secret sparking between them like a live wire.

“You ready for this?” Derek asked.

“For delicious burgers? Absolutely.”

“Delicious burgers. For life.”

Stiles inched closer to him, so their hips knocked gently. “And peaches. Delicious peaches. For life.”

“If it means I get one more day with you,” Derek looped an arm at Stiles’s waist, “I’ll make peaches grow for you year-round.” He placed a long kiss to Stiles’s temple.

“Let’s get married,” Stiles murmured.

They did.

As the sun just started to set and their breaths began misting the air, on the porch with their friends and family standing below, Noshiko waited for them. Stiles’s dad suffocated him in a hug before stepping down. Malia and Scott beamed at Derek and Stiles, and Cora had her head bowed to the ground, suspiciously rubbing at her eyes.

Noshiko kept her words short. When she asked Derek if he had vows, Stile panicked, but he saw even Derek hadn’t prepared anything so at least he had a second to come up with something. Then Derek started talking.

“Stiles.” Derek squeezed their clasped hands. “I gladly give every part of me to you, down to my last breath. When we met, I had no clue the road we would be set down or where it would lead, but without you, I would not be who I am now. Even in the short time we’ve known each other, you’ve made me a better man. I’ll keep bettering myself for both of us.”

Stiles’s blood ripened to wine. He flew higher on Derek’s words than he thought possible. But now it was his turn.

Glancing out at their audience, Stiles cleared his throat. “You, uh, you told me not to try at poetry because it’s not my style, so—here goes. I have learned so much from you, and I think—I hope—you’ve learned from me. I didn’t expect this. Neither of us did. But here we are. It hasn’t been easy. Shit, it’s been hell sometimes.” A smattering of laughter. “Um… But we’re still here. And I’ll fight for you, for us, for forever.” Stiles’s ears burned in the brief silence following his words.

“My white knight,” Derek whispered.

“You boys got rings?” Noshiko asked.

Derek and Stiles started to shake their heads, but Malia and Cora chimed, “Here,” simultaneously. They held out two rings: one of diamond studded silver and another silver band with a tiny blue gem embedded in it. Malia handed the blue gem to Stiles.

“They’re the least fancy ones we could find,” Cora said, earning more laughter from the onlookers.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, glancing out to the faces smiling up at him, wanting to say it to each of them individually. His dad nodded at him.

The ring was almost too small to fit right on Derek’s finger, but he didn’t seem to mind. As Derek glided the diamond ring onto Stiles’s finger, their hands grazed, and the touch was so subtle, but it sent shivers spanning through Stiles’s body.

“By the power vested in me by myself,” said Noshiko—more chuckling— “I now pronounce you husband and husband. Now kiss that boy.”

Joy, exhilaration, fear, desire. Who allowed people to feel this many things at once? Stiles thought he might start crying from the overwhelmingness of it all, but thankfully Derek palmed the back of his head and kissed him, chaste but not hasty.

There were cheers and laughing. Later, Stiles wouldn’t be able to remember anything anybody said to him because all he could remember was the way Derek’s hand felt in his as he was swarmed with his friends. His family. They were all his family, blood or no blood.

The one thing he did remember was the look of love and worry and joy on his dad’s face as he cupped Stiles’s face in his hands and said, “I love you, son. I’m happy if you are.”

“I am.”

They ate and drank and made merry well into the evening, guests trickling out the door as the night wore on. Malia left to stay the night at Kira’s to “give the newlyweds their wedding night” she said. Cora slipped into the car of her current handsome arm candy who waved dorkily at Derek and Stiles from the driver’s seat even though he looked like he probably broke fingers for the mafia. Scott, Allison, and Lydia were last to leave. Allison helped a horribly drunk Scott into the back of his car while Lydia kissed Stiles and Derek on the cheek.

“You two deserve a honeymoon,” she said.

“If the verdict goes our way, we may just go on a permanent vacation,” Derek joked.

“I’ll visit you in Hawaii.”

Scott, hanging out the window, started singing about how much he loved Stiles. Lydia rolled her eyes.

“Love you too, buddy,” Stiles called with a wave.

Then their taillights blinked out far in the darkness, and they were alone. Derek’s hand rested on Stiles’s waist.

“We’re married,” Stiles said.

“We are.”

Stiles wasn’t sure who started laughing first, but they soon were braced against the porch railing, overcome with a fit of giggles. The laughter ebbed out of their bodies. Stiles rotated the ring on his finger.

“I almost don’t want to give these back to the girls.”

“We could have identical ones made,” suggested Derek.

“And give them the replacements? That’s so evil.”

“No!” Derek laughed. “You know what I meant.”

“Yeah, I do. You know why? Because we’re married.”

They giggled again.

Derek rested his elbows on the railing, looking out into the night, his breath ghosting in the cold. “It’s our wedding night, I guess.”

“You want to get nasty?” Stiles asked suggestively, nudging Derek to stand straight so he could slant their hips together.

Derek smiled softly. His hands felt calloused but gentle as they cupped Stiles’s face. “If you want to. Right now, all I want is to hold you all night.” He kissed Stiles deep and slow, exploring his mouth as if for the first time.

When they parted, Stiles’s lips felt swollen, his mind hazy. “I could use some cuddles.”

By unspoken unanimous decision, they abandoned the mountain of cleanup they would have to do until tomorrow and showered, soaping each other up, washing each other’s hair, then slid into bed. They dozed off almost immediately, Stiles tucked into the curve of Derek’s body, Derek’s arm encircling him.

* * *

The next day, the jury had decided.

They could never know they held the fate of so many more than just August Lancaster in their hands. The jury foreman stood and spoke, but Stiles didn’t hear anything until he finally announced,

“Guilty on all charges.”

Stiles leapt out his chair and yelped in victory, his loan cry echoing loudly in the chamber, earning him a crack of the judge’s gavel. He sank back into his seat, but he glimpsed the euphoria in Derek’s face, and he no longer cared how embarrassed he was. Derek deserved a little celebration. He was free.


	7. Epilogue

Summer sauntered into Beacon Hills reluctantly and without fanfare. Derek planted flowers on the campus, honeysuckle blooming on the trellises he’d constructed against the walls of the farmhouse, permeating the air with their heady, dewy scent. Temperatures rose, but frost still layered the grass this morning. Stiles and Derek loaded Elvis into the truck. He screeched and chattered in protest, but settled down as they trundled down the dirt roads to the cabin.

Stiles rode in the passenger seat with his window down, early morning light spilling over him, his hand dangling in the wind. Sniper lay in a ball between him and Derek. It was a drowsy, easy morning, the first of a three-day weekend, and watching Derek drive, Stiles couldn’t imagine a better way to spend his off time.

The cabin came into view. Sniper perked up before Derek even braked, like she’d memorized every bump and bang the truck made parking in the front lawn. Thinking about it, Stiles thought maybe he did too. Something so familiar now about each little rock and jostle of the truck like how he knew his dad’s footsteps.

“I’ll carry the basket if you get the blanket,” Derek said. They split up, Sniper trotting beside Derek down the path to the lake while Stiles unlocked the cabin door.

In the crisp morning, the cabin was cold and dark but somehow not lifeless. There was warmth and comfort in the still air, in the earthy scent of the wooden walls and floors, even in the dust moats swirling in the sunlight slanting through the windows. Stiles breathed deep.

He found the picnic blanket, red and white and woven with memories, in the hall closet. When he reached the lake, Derek stood at the edge of the water, tiny waves threatening to wet his boots. He’d set the picnic basket further up shore.

“Are you trying to look majestic?” Stile joked. “Because if so, mission accomplished.”

Derek’s heels crunched in the pebbles as he swiveled to face Stiles. “It’s just a beautiful morning. I wanted to bask.”

“Bask away. My view was just as beautiful.”

Derek smiled and trapped Stiles’s waist in his arms, smooshing their bellies together. He kissed him, long and sweet. When they broke apart, Stiles fingered Derek’s hair. They swayed together, holding each other. Stiles’s gaze wandered to the lake where so many memories swam as if they would live on forever in the waters here. “You remember that first day we swam here? You let me borrow your swim trunks, and we changed behind those bushes.”

“I’ll never forget. I had to think about dead animals to keep from getting hard because you kept staring at me.”

Stiles smirked. “At least you didn’t go jack off in the shower immediately after.”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Oh, I need a detailed description of that right now.”

“Shut up.” Stiles kissed him to disguise his embarrassment. “I was tired and confused, okay? Very vulnerable.”

“You poor thing. Too bad I didn’t know. I could have helped.” The devious glint in Derek’s eye was too much for Stiles. He laughed and escaped from Derek’s arms but let him keep hold of his hand. “Hey, hey. Okay. I beat one off that night too.” He enfolded Stiles in his arms again, from behind this time. “I remember imagining you sucking me off for the first time. We were in the shower together. You were so cute on your knees and so obedient—”

“I’m not Sniper.”

“And you took me too deep at first and gagged.”

Stiles’s face heated. “You have strangely accurate fantasies.”

“And I,” Derek’s hands skimmed through Stiles’s hair, “did like this, and you moaned on my cock because it felt so good.”

“I think you’re overestimating how good your hands feel in my hair.” He wasn’t.

“And I enjoyed every second of it,” Derek nipped Stiles’s ear, licking the tender skin underneath.

“We may have to reenact this daydream later tonight.”

Derek laughed, hugging Stiles tight before saying, “Let’s go get Elvis.”

He started back up the trail, but Stiles chased after him, calling, “No, but really, the hands in the hair and the shower and…”

The crate was manageable with one person, but two made it much easier, especially down the uneven path to the lake. Sniper didn’t help, dancing between their legs with nervous excitement. Elvis was uncharacteristically quiet, his nose lifted in the air in curiosity. Did he recognize his home territory?

“Did Malia really not want to be here?” Stiles asked once they’d placed the cage beside their picnic spot.

Derek shook his head. “She hates goodbyes. She’s done a lot of them with wild animals over the years. I think they just got to be too much.”

“So, do we just spring the cage and he scuttles off?”

“Pretty much.”

“Not even a ‘thanks for saving my life, here’s a thousand bucks for your trouble?’”

“Not even.”

“Ungrateful.”

Derek laughed. “You ready?”

“Let’s bust him out of there. Don’t go getting caught in another trap, Elvis,” Stiles said. Derek commanded Sniper to stay—which she did reluctantly, fidgeting and alert—then he crouched beside the cage and unlatched the door, backing away slowly.

Elvis stayed frozen for a long moment before testing a paw on the stony ground. He moved in jerky stops and starts, eyes and ears on high alert. Darting over short distances to stop and stare, glaring at Stiles and Derek, he made his way to the underbrush. Grass rustled and leaves crunched as the bushy white tip of his tail vanished. After a few minutes the sounds of his retreat dissolved into the ambient forest noises.

Derek laced his fingers through Stiles’s and lifted his hand to kiss it. Stiles let himself be drawn into Derek’s arms, soaking in his warmth, drawing on his strength.

“He’s gone,” said Stiles.

“Yeah.”

“You think he’ll be okay?”

“We gave him the best chance he could have.”

Stiles smiled to himself. “Why does it sound like we’re sending our kid off to college?”

“You were an incredibly absent father,” Derek teased.

Stiles twisted to face him, laying his hands on Derek’s chest. “Yeah, because you wouldn’t grant me visitation rights half the time. Always ‘you have homework, Stiles’ or ‘be a responsible adult’ or ‘Lancaster is making me marry his daughter so we have to break up.’”

Derek hung his head. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

“Your grave is going to read ‘Loving husband, Mr. Superman, idiot who put his boyfriend through unnecessary strife.’”

“I wouldn’t call it unnecessary. We’re here now, together.”

“Because I saved your ass.”

Derek grinned. “Yeah. You did. Thank you.”

Stiles blushed at the sudden sincerity in his gaze. He cleared his throat, flapping a hand nonchalantly. “Yeah, well—um, so—” He withdrew enough from Derek’s arms to open the picnic basket. “Peach?”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “Yes, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all! <3


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